I’ve been writing for quite a long time. In high school, in college, and in Peace Corps, I’ve kept writing about any number of subjects any number of ways. Recently, a woman approached me looking to promote a new grammar checker website, and I must say that I was quite impressed.

Grammarly.com is this incredibly accurate grammar checking website that finds errors with commas and other punctuation, word choice and vocabulary, sentence structure and even writing style. It also provides synonyms to frequently used words to encourage richer vocabulary in any writing style.

I can see numerous applications for this website both in my personal and professional life. All the blogs that I write, all the emails that I send, all the reports that I make, I can run through the system quickly and see if I want to upgrade anything. It gives me an instant score out of 100 based on how accurate my words are to the language. As for the professional life, just think of the many uses in an academic setting! Not only can the students find the errors that are common in their text as they start using computers for more assignments from teachers, but the teachers can see if they’ve learned how to copy and paste from a website with a plagiarism checker.

My mother and I have always been able to identify errors in books, newspapers, and anything with a few words. Perhaps Cambodia has desensitized me, because I see it less and less. Spelling errors here are far too common, due both to the lack of English and the lack of critical examination of language. Most signs on businesses have at least one error in them. Most menus have at least three spelling errors. The errors are abundant. I’ve become less adept at catching the errors, mainly because it is too difficult to keep looking. Perhaps with Grammarly, I’ll be able to brush back up on my English skills and rules in order to improve myself. Check out these English Grammar Rules that they have on the site!

As I begin to prepare for a change in my life, I can see how this site could improve my writing and me. As I begin to write cover letters and professional emails, I will continue to check my work on the website before I send it off into the extensive digital world. I’m incredibly impressed with this site and the different editing topics that it offers. I thoroughly enjoy the English language and excited to be able to return to the devotion that I once had for it.

I painted my bathroom. And I am now officially out of rooms in my house to paint.

When the school closed, I made a list of all the things I wanted to accomplish with the time. Here are some examples: paint bathroom (check), get clothes tailored and go through clothes (check), clean (check). There were also some simpler things on there... bake being the key. It’s been quite some time since I lovingly kneaded bread for my tiny oven.

And I had a brilliant recipe – apple and honey challah, which I wanted to make for Jewish new year, for a good friend who has had a less than marvelous time lately. So, the day came when I woke up and said, Today is the day that I will bake.

And so I went to the market and got the key ingredients: yeast, eggs, apples, etc. And I began to mix everything together on my table, which is an incredibly enjoyable and relaxing activity. Challah requires some time, though. I think I spent 5 hours with all of the kneading, rising, braiding, etc. So, I decided that I would make a second, much easier bread as well: Focaccia. It is simple and I figured that I could use the rising time for that bread and mix it with the baking time for the other and it would all time together perfectly. I was correct.

However... I also decided to do some cleaning while I was baking. I’d put the bread out to rise and go clean something, then come back, put it to bake, clean something. You can see the pattern. It was all going extremely well until I went into my spare bedroom. I saw that my light had been completely taken over by something... And that something was a termite nest.

My spare bedroom is a room I rarely enter. It is dark and dusty and holds nothing special for me. Needless to say, I was a bit surprised that the entire post that held the light switch had been used by said insect for their dusty nest. I had a moment of panic. What do I do with this? Keep in mind that my challah, all 5 hours in progress, was currently in the oven about halfway through its bake time.

I thought to myself that I should destroy the nest. That would be the appropriate thing to do, right? After looking outside for my landlady and not finding her, I decided to go for it. So I got out my hammer. Looking back, I’m shocked that I didn’t realize how horrible this idea was. Anyway, I got out my hammer and took a swing at the termites. It connected and termite nest dust fell onto my floor. A second hit... more termite dust and a hint of the little white creatures. A third hit... and my electricity cuts out.

Now, it isn’t unusual for the lights to cut out here and there, but the electricity is generally reliable. So I knew right away that my ill-fated tool choice had created my current situation. I went outside for the landlady in a panic. My bread, I thought... My bread!!! I asked one of the kids if their lights were on and they said yes. Then I went searching back in the compound for my landlady until I finally found her. Of course, it began to rain, and when I finally found my landlady, she thought that I was searching for my cat. So, when I asked (pleaded, begged) her to come to my house and look, she started calling, “Jas-a” and pointing me to where he last was. I said, “Come, come!” She said, “Jas-a.”

Oy.

I finally got her inside and heard a long and loud sigh... Yep, she understood. She called an electrician (Thai, she told me, with a Khmer wife) and he came over. But, in the meantime... my bread? I took the oven over to the neighbors and plugged it in. I should mention... my oven is the size of an American microwave, completely dependent on electricity, not gas, for the heat. So, once again, my neighbors got a bit of a show. The white girl, panicking over some bread, carrying her oven over to the neighbors to keep it hot as the Thai man came through the house and tried to fix the electricity without ever looking at the termite nest.

And, of course, in true Khmer fashion, my landlady and the people who appeared out of nowhere when the white lady started doing crazy things were completely amazed at the miracle being produced in the oven. “Wow, you can make that!?” My challah finally came out of the oven, beautiful, dark, lacquered with egg and they were amazed. They were even more amazed when my focaccia went into the oven and came out delicious. I couldn’t share the first but I shared the second. They were unsure about the bread that is sort of not like bread with stuff in it, but they tried it and appeared to enjoy it.

After my lights were back on, and the Thai man left, without dealing with the termites, I called the landlady back and made her look at the issue. It was quite bad. One of the light switches was completely covered by the nest and I couldn’t reach it. And, really, if a hammer knocked out the lights in the whole place, wouldn’t the termites do something worse later? Oh yes. Finally, everything was dealt with. The termites are now gone. The lights work once again. The challah was delicious (and welcome... since my friend’s parents were coming and it was almost Friday). And... “Jas-a” was not lost.

With a 5 week holiday, I feel as though I’m reliving my Peace Corps days. Yes, 5 weeks. Perhaps I’ll go back a few weeks to clue everyone in on the situation.

First off... a few updates. I work for a very cool school called JPA, the Jay Pritzker Academy. I am the librarian in a room full of 20,000 books. We have a Pre-K to 12 school with about 400 students (give or take). It is hard work, but extremely rewarding. I spent the first quarter teaching computers, research, and other library-associated skills, as well as reading aloud to most of the classes and running the after school tutoring program. These are all things that I enjoy immensely. In fact, I think I’ve found my calling. I love to read and encourage others to do the same. I love computers and the versatility that they allow me. And I love these students. They are eager to learn and are, I’m certain, the best behaved students in the history of education. I’ve worked there for about a year and a half now, and am loving it.

In other news, I’m still in the same house I was in when I posted my last blog. It has been painted since my last post... about 4 times. I’ve painted my kitchen yellow, my living room red, and my entry way and bathroom turquoise. I’ve also added both a Playstation (complete with guitar and dance dance revolution dance pad) and a Wii to my living space. I have a cat, called Jasper, who wandered up the stairs and into my bedroom when he was a kitten and never left. I also got internet in my house with the help of a tiny USB stick that says ‘metfone’ on it. In other words, I think I’ve got it made. Or, I would... if the water would stay on and the termites would leave the house. Nasty creatures, termites. They made a nest in my spare bedroom and when I tried to destroy it, my lights went out.

But that’s neither here nor there... I was getting to why I was off for 5 weeks. Well, in a word... water. Since September, Siem Reap (including my house) has been flooded about 5 times. The river in the middle of the town overflowed into the streets and created some massive headaches for everyone. It was never too bad. Even at its worst, the water was only up to my knees. And living on the second floor, the water made my travels difficult but it only affected my entryway and made it extremely dirty. It also made Jasper stir crazy... being in the house all that time without going out to cavort with his pals, but he survived and I did too.

But the school... School is worse. We watched as the water flowed higher and higher, going over part of the road. The school is outside of town about 20 kilometers, and the water nearby is not the Siem Reap river, but in fact a much larger lake. Luckily, most of the students live on the side of the school that was less affected, but the problems continue to circulate through the village. The majority of rice fields surrounding the school have been destroyed. Which means that the livelihoods of the people who work in the fields... well, you can imagine.

Either way, the flooding issue is all around Southeast Asia. And after seeing the water rise something like 5 cm in one afternoon, our principal cancelled school for a few weeks. And in that time, the water rose high enough to not only surround the school, but to enter it. There are some photos of the water in the corridors, in the classrooms. And really, this is all quite incredible given JPA is the absolute highest point around, built to withstand all sorts of nature.

So this brings me back to the beginning... I have 2 weeks left to do with what I will. I spent a week in Bangkok, watching the bottled water disappear in the hands of frightened Thais and trying to get my fix of America inside the giant sprawling malls of Siam Square. I spent a week cleaning and cuddling my cat. I spent a week working on things for school. And now? Perhaps I’ll spend a week around Cambodia before attempting to get back into work mode. Right now I feel lazy in the way that too much vacation encourages. I sleep late, eat too much, spend more money than I like... all while trying to remember the students and their own predicaments. It’s a sizeable set back... in more ways than one.

After two long years in the Peace Corps, my service has come to a close. Two years served, hours spent in a hammock, 100 books digested, hundreds of students taught, thousands of connections made, and what seems like millions of photos taken, and here I am, a 23 year old RPCV ready to continue work in another capacity. I feel like I’ve done many different things in my service. I wrote some books for others to use, put on 4 girls’ camps, taught in a rural school, learned a language, figured out how to sew and bake, and hopefully changed myself into a more culturally sensitive human/woman/American. It is difficult to see the change that I’ve supposedly brought to the village in which I lived. I see much more change within myself, in the person that I’ve become. I feel more confident, more able to manage myself in the world in which I live. But enough about this...

I’ve chosen to not leave Cambodia. Of the group in which I came, I am one of 5 who have chosen to stay on for at least one more year. While this country and the time difference between here and my own home country seem to offer endless frustration, I have also fallen in love with the people. I’ve also gotten a job at an organization that I have unlimited respect for. In fact, I’ve just finished my first week there as an odd admin. I will be implementing the new library system, giving bar codes and ID tags to students and books and magnifying glasses. I will work on PR, updating the website and writing some newsletter items. I will also do several other sorts of things as needed. They haven’t come up yet, but we will see. I’m absolutely thrilled at this opportunity. Absolutely thrilled.

Beyond the job, I’ve also moved. I am now the proud renter of a humble little Khmer apartment in some semblance of the typical style. Wood floors, spacious rooms... and everything I need to be happy. And really, as it is my first every own apartment, I felt as if I should do a series of firsts of the place.

It was, after all, the first place I saw when I started my search. That has to mean something, right?

First thing that sold me on the place: the bathtub. And tied: The landlady.

First thing I brought upstairs: The orange backpack that I brought with me to Peace Corps.

First thing in my fridge: One bottle of rose wine and one bottle of vodka.

First visitor: Fellow K2 Tyler.

First pillows: Awful. Second pillows: From hotel supply store.

First purchase for the place: Shelves for the kitchen and bathroom.

First problem: Ants in the honey. Ants in the bathtub. Ants in the bedroom. Ants all over.

First call to the landlady: Please make the kitchen sink turn on!

First use of the oven/stove: Foccaccia bread and sauce.

First funny: Well, I moved into a fairly commercial area, which means that there is a restaurant next door, a hotel across the street, various shops and schools nearby and a business next door. The place next door has a very pretty and colorful sign with a butterfly on it, noting that it is a spa. So, one day, I walked out of my house with some time to spare to run some errands and I decided to pop in and have a quick look at the spa menu, thinking how fortunate it would be if there was a cheap massage place just next door. So, I walk in to a lovely garden full of flowers, see lots of young guys in pseudo-uniforms around, and enter the office to ask for the menu. The boys quickly come into the office and, thinking nothing of a lot of people working somewhere and getting excited when someone comes in. But then, I hear one of the boys say in Khmer, “go inside for her to look,” and I slowly turn around, to find nothing else than all of the boys standing behind a glass window with a bright fluorescent light on. It is at this moment that I realize that I am in the wrong place. It is equally this time when the boys realize that I realize that I am in the wrong place. They giggle. I giggle. And I walk out as briskly as I politely can, now knowing that I live not next to a nice spa, but next to a gay men’s brothel disguised as one.

And that's what I've got so far... More updates about the firsts in my life to come....

Upon half-heartedly glancing at old blogs and thinking what I was dancing to at that moment, it occurred to me that I haven’t written a blog yet about one of the things that I find most dear to my heart: music. I cannot believe my negligence. Music is one of the few things that has stayed constant in my service, unlike my stomach, my clothing, and my cooking prowess. And so, I would like to share with you (and I debated with myself quite heavily while I bathed this evening) the music that I have through the many situations I encounter in my strange life here.

Let me first say that I have in my music collection (and I have scaled it down considerably in my free time here) a total of almost 9,000 songs, which is 41.91 GB and 25.7 days of solid tunage. I have, over the course of several bored weekends, acquired all of the album artwork for these songs and catalogued them tirelessly in my quest for the most organized music collection possible. This is only moderately successful, as I seem to double my music collection upon every training event that brings a group of Volunteers together. I still have my favorites, of course, and I have listened to the majority of the library... but there are always more gems to be uncovered...

With that, here goes my list... and this is just full albums, albums that I can actually listen to most of the songs on...

FOR TAXI RIDES. The road is too bumpy to read anything without giving even the strongest stomach a bit of car sickness, and it is approximately an hour from my A to their B. My goals are to stay perky and effectively ignore mostly everyone in the car, unless (like last Sunday) there is a really cool old fella in need of a smile and introduction into the world of the iPod. Plus, the music in the car is usually not conducive to music... So, I listen to comedy shows:

1. Jim Gaffigan – Beyond the Pale

2. Dane Cook – Harmful if Swallowed

3. Mitch Hedberg – Strategic Grill Locations

FOR WORK-OUTS. I’ve got a bike, and ride it often. The best tunes I’ve found for these little treks (nothing angry, because I’m in a village and want to be upbeat, nothing too slow for me to lose motivation, and nothing too offensive, because I’m pretty focused on the music) is...

1. The Neptunes – Clones

2. Outkast – Idlewild

3. Clipse – Hell Hath No Fury

FOR HAMMOCKS. Hammocks are great, and require a certain amount of chillaxin music to offer the premium amount of R & R. Here’s what I’ve got for that.

1. Maxwell – Urban Hang Suite

2. K-os – Atlantis: Hymns for Disco or Yes!

3. Nneka – No Longer At Ease

FOR DANCING. The tunes that will make me dance, no matter the audience.

1. Michael Jackson – Thriller, or Jackson 5 Music

2. Beyonce – I am... Sasha Fierce

3. Justin Timberlake – Future Sex / Love Sounds

FOR REFLECTION. You can’t always be perky, and you have to retreat into some music for some deep breaths...

1. Murder By Death – In Bocca al Lupo

2. 16 Horsepower – Sackcloth and Ashes

3. John Williams – Memoirs of a Geisha Score

FOR COOKING. When I bake, I must dance. Sometimes I sing as well.

1. Amy Winehouse – Back to Black

2. Queen – Sheer Heart Attack

3. Roison Murphy – Ruby Blue

AND FOR ALL THOSE OTHER TIMES. Maybe I’ll go by genre... and try my best to be comprehensive...

Stuff that reminds me of my mama...

Led Zeppelin – Black Dog, Ramble on, The Ocean

Queen – Killer Queen, Bicycle Race, Brighton Rock

Rush – Tom Sawyer

The Who – Pinball Wizard

Stuff that I never knew about until Cambodia...

Citizen Cope – Brother Lee, Nite Becomes Day

Handsome Boy Modeling School – World’s Gone Mad, The Projects

K’naan – The entire Dusty Foot Philosopher & Troubadour albums

Tosca, the opera

My top-played albums...

Mos Def – The Ecstatic

Santogold – Santogold

Rhymefest – Blue Collar

Favs from Cambodia...

Rob Viktum – Progress, An Audio Tribute to the Cambodian People

Ros Sereysothea – Any and All Music (found on the City of Ghosts Soundtrack)

Khemerak Sreymoun – Any and All Music (found on VCDs throughout Cambodia)

Dengue Fever – Dengue Fever

Odd Finds...

Shantel – Disko Partizani

The Books – Thought for Food

Balkan Beat Box – Nu Med

Best Soundtracks...

American Beauty

Kill Bill 1 & 2

Ocean’s Eleven

Best Happy Music...

Bobby McFerrin – Don’t Worry, Be Happy

Ray Charles – Best of

Mika – Life in Cartoon Motion

Hip Hop...

The Gypsies – One Hand Up

Jaylib – Champion Sound

Q-Tip – The Renaissance, Aplified

Raekwon – Only Built for Cuban Linx II

Rakim – The Seventh Seal

Mix-Ups...

Jay-Z and Coldplay – Viva La Hova

Wu Tang Clan and the Beatles – Enter the Magical Mystery Chamber

Verve // Remixed

Other...

The Soul of John Black – The Good Girl Blues

The Best of Sting and the Police

Tom Waits – Real Gone

There’s more of course... but whenever I work on my computer, my iTunes is set to permanent shuffle, so I always get something I didn’t even know I wanted!

I discovered a new passion... One that I am actually pretty decent at. And so, yes, grandma, I CAN COOK!!! I suppose a lot of things change in two years, and this girl that could never even be bothered to boil water is now working on recipes that span hours (and one that’s going to span a few days...). Not only that, but I’ve learned how to do it all with the very basics in supplies and groceries. The butter we have is Thai and wouldn’t make it to the table in the states. The milk I have is only to be found in cans. The oven is the size of my microwave in Iowa. And yet, I have managed to do some incredible things. At least, I think that they are incredible, but what isn’t after 5 meals with nothing but rice and pork and a veggie here and there? We’ll save the final verdict until later, but here’s some of what I’ve been working on:

First off, I bake bread. And rolls, and sticky buns and all manner of breaded goods. Most of them require (at least) 1-2 hours of rising time, when I usually putter around Oly’s place and read his newspaper. Or, I work on some other recipe that I wanted to try. I chop, I grate (without a grater), I juice (I have a juicer), and I mix (by hand). And I must say, I never knew how easy some of these things could be. I made awesome homemade applesauce in under an hour. It was considerably easier than getting in the car, driving to the grocery, getting a basket, picking out the right brand and flavor, paying, dealing with the issues of plastic bags and the environment, and carting the darned stuff home. Peel. Chop. Boil. Season. Mash. Done. And it was way better than the rest. But, back to bread. Oly has a book of breads for children that I am systematically baking through. Here's what I’ve made so far:

- Dinner Rolls (nestled together in the pan, very lover-like).

- Challah (Hallah), which is of Jewish origin and braided and triple tiered.

- Pita Bread (for homemade hummus)

- Biscuits from scratch!

- Tortilla Bread (for homemade fajitas)

- Oatmeal Bread (which we ate with a Spanish Omelet)

- Sticky Buns (My family ADORED these)

- Pie Crust

- Homemade Pumpkin Pie... from scratch...

I’ve got a lot more cooking to do, but I’m racking up quite a recipe book of things that I can make. My new favorite vegetable is eggplant and my favorite seasoning is rosemary.

Also, I’ve hosted a dinner party! I made fresh baked pita bread to go with hummus, mashed up potatoes, and created skewers for the barbeque for all my pals in Thmar Puok. I even have my own apron, tailored especially for me.

I am very excited by this, as I’m sure you can tell... and if you have any recipes that don’t have silly ingredient lists, send them my way!!

See more pictures here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2029550&id=72901581&l=efd03f89ee

I’m realizing that it has been some time since I have added to this blog of mine. It has become increasingly difficult to write about the things that I find so normal now. Well, a grain of salt sort of normal. It has also been so hot that even sitting and writing felt like a chore. But now, with the rains beginning and the cool air breezing through my windows, my head is finally clear enough to put a few thoughts onto the web.

Very soon, I will leave this place that I call home to find a new one. July will find me in Siem Reap, teaching for a fabulous school called JPA, which is the most American thing I’ve ever seen in the town. It is well funded, well managed, and all around amazing for the students that will go on to American universities after they graduate from this K-12 school. More on that later, though. For now, I’m thinking about how upset I will be when I leave my home in Thmar Puok Village.

Recently it struck me just how many people I’ve interacted with in two years. I suppose it isn’t that surprising (two years is a loooong time), but at the same time, I had felt as if I had gotten into a bit of a habit of seeing the same people over and over again. I eat at the same restaurants, I teach the same students, and I interact with a certain group of people related to me and my family. But then, just last week, I went on a long bike ride through the more remote villages in the district. I rode past one student’s house, where I once went to a festival meant to send his older brother into monkhood... I went past the pagoda where I talked with the old men that I see there every time... I went past the place where I found shelter once in a rainstorm... I stopped and talked with some old women about the party I came to and they told me I dance better than some Khmers... I said hello to at least 6 students whose names I actually remembered... And I ran into the other barang in the village. Even while I spoke with him, three out of the four people who drove past knew me and said hello: One, a student who studies with a friend of mine. Two, another teacher whose family I know quite well. And three, a man whose wedding I participated in, a man who works with my cousin.

After this, as well as a barang / barang incident in Siem Reap (At one restaurant, I knew people seated at two different tables), it suddenly hit me that I have met so many people in this place. That this small village in the middle of the rice fields of Cambodia has become one more home for me. I love it here, and I only have to go a short distance to find a friend.

I’ve been thinking recently about an article that my mom sent me ages ago, something in the DSM Register about a young girl who came to Cambodia and volunteered for a few weeks here. I don’t quite know what brought it up into my mind, but I kept thinking about how brisk it all is. I see with so many volunteering things terms of just a few weeks, a month maybe. What I’ve seen from my service is that the most effective thing that I have done is to make a solid connection with people. We make some sense to one another, we found something in common. I stopped being an alien to them, and became just a friend. We joke around, we laugh together, and we’ve become buddies in a way that would have been impossible my first few weeks at site. These relationships have made my service a success. They have also made it almost impossible for me to think of leaving.

And so, the job search begins. With any luck, I’ll be able to find work in a different field, something closer to the refugee services that I once did and would like to do once more. And then, eventually, maybe I’ll be able to find myself falling in love with another country’s people, and make another home away from home.

The fine details of the Khmer New Year festivities!

So, the lovely country that I currently inhabit just finished celebrating its new year, which marks the new year of the tiger... For Cambodia, the three official days of celebration are somehow turned into a month of fun and games, which I fully participated in. I thought I would describe some of the more entertaining of the games and give you the tools to prepare for your next Cambodian Festival. Basically, though, have as much fun as you can in 100 degree heat by drinking and dancing out the bad of the previous year. And take every opportunity you can to hang out with the opposite sex because the rules are a bit more relaxed when all of the matriarchs are cooking and drinking and all the men can’t keep their hands off the liquor.

1. Home Altar... Every house has a little altar devoted to appeasing the ancestors inside their home. In my house, this was on the open area outside my room. There was a table with incense and candles, religious flags, money, soda, milk, fruits of all kinds, and some shiny things to scare away the bad spirits. Incense was burned there daily and the offerings were consumed after the third day of celebration.

2. Alcohol... No Festival would be complete without some liquor, most commonly beer. Rice wine, palm wine, and muscle wine are all acceptable for your festivities, though, as long as they are accompanied by loud music (sometimes karaoke) and speakers the size of an average car.

3. Food... Eat some Khmer curry and lots of mangoes. Tis the season.

4. Karaoke... is one of the most important activities for a successful party. Sing it with your family, all hours of the day, or if you are with another barang, sing it in a bar with a few Khmer folk listening in on your renditions of ‘I will survive,’ ‘These boots were made for walking,’ and ‘Billie Jean.’ I did do this, in a bar, in Siem Reap, with my pal Jan.

5. Powder / Water... Give your future sweetheart a chance to touch your face in public as he smears baby powder on your face as a wish of good luck for the holiday. I was caught at three parties smeared with baby powder and caught once, no twice, on the street by parties traveling with their powder. Or, if powder and close contact isn’t your bag, try slinging water on whoever goes past. On the last day of the new year, as I found out the hard way, is less of a baby powder smear and more of an ashes sort of smear. I was walking along the street and saw a parade of people smeared entirely in black soot, which was then smeared onto me. They got my arms, legs, neck, and every inch of my face. The best part, though, was going home and watching my family burst out in uncontrollable laughter at the picture that I made.

Games to play...

1. Food eating contests and races... I saw apple eating contests, watermelon eating contests, and some contest where you were only allowed to eat fruit hanging from a string by pushing against your opposite sexed counterpart. There was also a contest where the girls had to peel some small fruits and feed them to the boys in front of them.

2. Slow Biking Contest... Whoever finishes last wins.

3. Tug of War... Thankfully not a boy versus girl situation.

4. Blindfolded Tag... The two people who are ‘it’ have blindfolds on and feel around for all the people that are unable to leave the circle that has been drawn in the dirt. Surprisingly more difficult than you would imagine.

5. Greasy Pole... Money at the top, and a tall and slippery surface in between.

6. Egg and Spoon Contest... Try to carry an egg on a spoon to your friend at the end of the line, transfer the egg, then watch your partner try not to drop it on the way back.

7. Sack Races... I saw a girl who had to wait a few minutes before she could get out the sack as she had lost her skirt in her enthusiasm.

8. Water Transfer Contest... Take a big sip of water, carry it across a length, then spit it into a bottle. First to fill up the bottle is the winner 

9. Balloon Popping Contest... A chance to be rude with a member of the opposite sex as you pop balloons in between your bodies as fast as you possibly can.

10. Musical Chairs... I won once, but only because I pulled a fast one on my competitor by taking the chair elsewhere for me to sit.

11. Clay Piñata... It looks as dangerous as it sounds, trust me... but the prizes inside are much better, candy and cash doused with baby powder.

12. Chopsticks Contest... Try to keep some small hard object in chopsticks from one end of the line to the other. Very difficult!

You know you’ve been a Volunteer in Cambodia too long when...

... Inspired by fellow Volunteer from Britain (Oly).

...you hand things to people with two hands instead of one.

...after a few meals of Western food (which make you wonder why you decided to eat dairy products), you begin to crave the taste of rice with a simple stir fry.

...all your clothes have been destroyed through a combination of hand-washing, sweat stains, and animal teeth.

...you don’t care that all your clothes are destroyed because you no longer care what you look like.

...you begin to feel chilly at 75 degrees.

...you forget that most TV shows have commercials, and that most seasons of TV shows don’t come in a box for under ten dollars.

...you haven’t the slightest clue what’s happening culturally in your country and your idea of the latest tunes are actually from 10 years ago.

...you pick up a new vocabulary consisting of KhmEnglish words sprinkled with slang from other foreigners...

...the percentage of your time spent on work here is similar to the percentage of time you spent on leisure at home.

...you can finally begin to imagine how life was in the olden days, before transport, electricity, and McDonald’s.

...you are constantly drenched with sweat, laundry water, or rain.

...the 7 hour trip to Phnom Penh “isn’t that bad.”

...the very odd Asian clothes in the market that you once saw in disgust (think ribbons, bows, huge buttons, sewn-in layers, bright colors, and English phrases of nonsense) look wearable.

...you do actually buy clothes from the market and sport them around for your friends.

...you can win a stare down with anyone... anyone.

...condensed milk is a staple of your diet, with sugar, rice, and water.

...days and months have little to no meaning in your daily life.

...cultural guilty pleasures have no ‘guilty’ attached to them.

...you find yourself dependent on things like tiger balm, cooling powder and mosquito coils.

...you find yourself no longer dependent on Wal-Mart, watches and other very American things.

...you begin to have trouble interacting with other foreigners or understanding an English speaker from your country.

...people who just got here confuse you.

...‘late’ is 10 instead of 3.

...you forget holidays that would have been a huge deal back home.

...you’ve seen or heard any number of variations on your name... Kokey, Kelshie, Kel (sigh), etc... and decided to adopt a Khmer name out of ease... mine is ‘Bopha.’

...you listen to enough music to realize how much of it is stolen among artists.

...you have the time to do just about anything you want.

...you have the money to live like a rock star on $100 a month.

...you have been dreaming of the day when you’ll reunite with your family in the airport.

...you find it odd to get a drink to go that’s not in a bag.

This morning I woke up with an inexplicably strong craving for mashed potatoes and gravy. Something about the way the light was in my room, or the bed, or my dreams, made me think that I was in grandma’s spare bedroom on a Sunday morning. The blaring wedding music and the roosters chased away the feeling quite quickly, but it was strong this morning. I also had a flashback to the aisles of Indianola’s Wal-Mart while I strolled through the market this morning. At the moment, I’m sitting on my friend’s balcony looking at the dusty streets of the city, watching motos drive by. One’s carrying a ladder. Another driver just stop to pee across the street on a cement wall. He’s not the first one I’ve seen today. It’s remarkably temperate today; the night before last we had a thunderstorm that made the heat less sweltering than usual. In fact, I could be forgiven for thinking it felt like Iowa right now. I miss it quite a lot.

However, I also think that I would miss this country if I left. The stresses are so different, the pressures unusual. Personality wise, I feel quite able to let go and feel more like myself. I feel less pressure to know every aspect of my future, less pressure to work myself into the ground, less pressure to look a certain way. I find the relief of these pressure pleasant. There are different stresses, though; I haven’t shown my shoulders for some time, or been out past 10, or been able to go somewhere without being stared at. It’s something of a trade off. (There is another man peeing on the wall now.) I still like it here. We’ll see how I feel after April, because I’m not planning on leaving my province. I may even have a few things to write about, with my first big Khmer holiday that I’m actually going to participate in. Wish me luck! For now, I’ll just try to find something to fill the void of grandma’s food in my tummy...

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It feels like time is flying. There is less than 7 months left in my service, which I realize sounds like a long time, but between travelling, goodbyes, and all the frills and thrills of COS, I know that these next few months will fly. This realization paired with the knowledge that some people in my group are going home even sooner has led the volunteers in my area to speculation of our lives at home. They say that culture shock is twice as bad when it is in your own country, and I must agree. My life here has been an intense and exciting trip into the unknown, but it has also been incredible to behold. I’ve changed so many parts of my life and have found a niche in my village. I know how to get around without anything besides bargaining power and am beginning to function as an adult (this is aided in part by the many example adults I have as friends). However, I do not quite know how to be an adult in a non-Southeast Asian country. This was not part of the instruction I have received from my Peace Corps experience. First Example: When I shop for anything, from clothing to toothpaste to travel to groceries, I bargain. They charge me more because my white skin shimmers with dollar signs and my scratchy Khmer reminds them of the ring of a cash register (if in fact they had cash registers… they usually just have fanny packs or baskets full of crumpled bills). If I can’t get them down to a price that I find acceptable, I walk away until they call me back and allow me to pay my (fairer) price. The walk-away works particularly well with tuk-tuk drivers and grocery sellers; in this country they are the opposite of few and far between. I can see myself in Wal-Mart now… After I’ve stood in the doorway gawking at the high ceilings and praising the weather controller, said hello to whoever was at the door, and stared at a few of the customers in concern, I’ll wander back to the ‘fresh’ foods and try to find something familiar. “Ma’am, how much is this?” I’ll say, because just last week, when my students asked me what the words ‘price tag’ meant, I remembered that I haven’t seen one in almost two years. She’ll no doubt look at me with disgust, turn to show me the back of the blue vest, and throw a, “look at the price tag,” over her shoulder. I will, then, look at the price tag… “$5.00 for bananas??!!??!?! That’s outrageous! Would you take $2.50?” At this point, I’m sure I’ll be looking at the blur that used to be the saleswoman, as she flees in fear from the out of control girl in the grocery aisle. Perhaps I’ll take my small bunch of (not very good) bananas to the counter and ask the cashier to accept my discount. “Coupon?” “No.” “Sale?” “Umm…” “That’ll be $5.00.”“That’s crazy! You sure you won’t take $2.50? If you don’t, I’m gonna walk away. I will!”“…”“Okay, I’m walking away… This is me walking away… I’m going to another seller…”“…”“Do you have change for a 10?” Second Example: Restaurants here in Cambodia have different rules than those back in America. Every morning, I have a delicious breakfast consisting of coffee and noodle soup (guey tio), in which I dump some chili sauce, pepper, lime, and sugar. In this tiny little restaurant, I am always the only foreigner (I can count on one hand the number of times this wasn’t true). I am also usually the only woman. Here in Cambodia, morning coffee is male bonding time. Other times include lunchtime muscle wine, afternoon Johnny Walker, and evening rice wine. Or anytime cigarettes, for that matter. Sometimes, a patron brings his wife or child, and this person sits quiet and awkward for the entire meal. Well, now that I think about it, meals aren’t really used for conversation as they are in Cambodia. They are used for excessive littering, mouth noise-making, and all manner of rude behavior involving the wait staff. I can just see myself in Applebee’s… “Heeyyyy!!!! Food!”“Yes, miss, can I take your order?”“[grunt] salad [grunt] coke.”“Sorry, miss? What was that?”“[grunt] SALAD [grunt] COKE!”“Miss, you’re gonna need to be a little more specific.”“RICE! ARGH!” This will present something of a problem for me. I also expect in this little outing that I will do one of the following things:1. Throw something I consider trash on the floor.2. Yell across the restaurant at the waiter with one lengthy syllable.3. Slurp or otherwise make a mess.4. Wipe everything on the table down with a paper napkin, then proceed to throw that napkin on the floor.5. Sit on the table.6. Eat the second the food arrives at the table.7. Use something at the table (perhaps a toothpick) to perform some form of personal hygiene. 8. Say the word ‘delicious’ more times than necessary. Third Example: My life here is fraught with attention. Children are either too scared to say something to me or much too brave to say anything normally. They will either shy away from me or yell in my face. There is very little middle ground. I receive an average of 3-6 ‘hello!’s every time I leave the house. This is possibly why I do not leave the house remarkably often. The ‘hello!’s are not limited to children, though. Far from it! With the women, it is usually supplemented with a “srai sa’at,” or “pretty girl” along with some tongue clucking. With the men, it is usually accompanied with some kissing or grunting noises and again, “srai sa’at,” though you can use your imagination to consider the differences in tones between the genders. In fact, perhaps I will break it down for you a little more clearly. For a child:“Hello!” means “Holy crap! A white person!! Is she the ghost that my mom keeps telling me about?!” (or) “A foreigner! I’ve never seen anything that tall and fat and pale before!” For a teenage girl:“How much skin whitening cream will I need to buy to get skin that color?” For an adult woman:“Wow, I wish my skin was that color!” (or) “A girl by herself? What a shame to her family she must be!” (or) “Why does she have so much hair on her arms? Why is her hair so curly? I wonder if she’s married. I wonder if she’s with a Khmer man… How old could she be? She looks too old to be single. When will she get married? (The train of thought doesn’t stop here…)” For an adult man:“Daaaammmmnnnnnn!! (The rest is censored… I want to keep this PG).” I’m sure that walking down the street and being the same color as the majority of the population will be a bit difficult at first. After all, I’ve gotten used to being a celebrity in my little village. I’ve even had to turn away photographers (and that was very unpleasant… a stranger on a moto pulled up to me one day, rather pulled up into my path to stop me, and shoved his phone in my face. It didn’t end well.) Well, that’s all for now. There are some things that I am looking forward to, I must say. For one, I’m looking forward to ovens not being a rare sight. All appliances, really. Washing machines are in my dreams… TV that doesn’t involve soap operas from across Asia… Dairy products… Something other than ‘hotter than hell’… Libraries… Lots.

Bangkok. Christmas. Awesome. At Mickey Dees in Asia, Ron welcomes you as everyone else does :) Also, the Subway had a great sign in Thai that talked about how to order your sub... What a place this Bangkok is!

So, basically, Thanksgiving was amazing.

Participants:Banteay Meanchey K2s: Myself, Anthony, Deidre, and Dan...BM K3s Lisa, Kenny, and Emily...Battambang K2 BobSiem Reap K2 AdrianPursat K2 TylerKampong Chhnang K2 GregBM Australian AnneBM Brit Jen

Here's the Menu.

Appetizers:Cheesy Spinach Dip with BreadCarrots and Bread for DippingVinegar and Olive Oil Dipping SauceSummer Sausage, Cheese, and Crackers

The Main Course:Roast ChickenMashed Potatoes and GravyStuffingMacaroni and CheeseCornCranberry Sauce

Dessert:Caramel Slice (British deliciousness)Apple CrispApple PiePumpkin Pie (with some sort of whipped cream)Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting

November 7, 2009

I’ve seen the boys play it for entire afternoons, entire days, with any number of people and colors… They sit on the floor for hours and we lose them to the trance that they fall under. They barely come up for food or water, which is surprising given how much I’ve seen any one of them eat at a time. Eventually they get out of the game, one at a time, until the winner emerges and they start over again.

The game: Risk

The players: Male PCVs of several provinces The place: Dan’s House

Why do I bring this up, you wonder? I’m not a boy… I don’t generally fall under a game trance… I’m usually doing other things while they play…

But not today. Today, for their last game of the afternoon, I caved and decided to give the game of world domination a try. I got an early hold on Africa and watched as Dan took the Americas and Kenny took Europe, with Anthony holding strong in parts of Asia and Australia. I was a bit stagnant, building up my armies and defending my territory from the invaders. But then, in one special turn, I turned in my cards for some new people, took my people though the middle east and into Australia, took my place in Siam and the “sk” countries of north Asia, and received enough armies to rampage through Europe and continue on to the Americas, where I crushed everyone and finally dominated the entire earth.

May I add that I am the first woman to play amongst the men for the right to the world and that it was my first time playing the game ever.

May I also add that given the circumstances of the barang population in Cambodia, the boys may hold the title for most games of Risk played in a single day (or ever) and that I could possibly hold the title of first woman to win the game of Risk in Cambodia. I may add that to the special skills section of my resume… Undefeated Risk Champion. Armies: Pink.

I’m beginning to keep track of some of the more interesting things that I read in my students’ work… We just studied a chapter on Farming and I had them write some essay about farming in Thmar Puok. Here are some of the more entertaining morsels: [Cambodia] has a good climate. In most all sections of country it is possible to live comfortable during the whole year without snow, violent storms, earthquakes, volcanic eruption, etc. Rice is important for people in the world. About farming, there are many crops which grow on the ground in Thmar Puok like: rice, corn, potato, banana, bean, bread fruit, coconut, custard apple, mango, longan, cucumber, papaya, cassava, sapodilla, wood apple, watermelon, chili, marrow, pumpkin, and a lot more that I cannot count all. In Thmar Puok district is the place where people always make a lot of crops but I want to write an essay about corn…. In the end I think corn is a crop which I most prefer. At all for me, I have no ideas to write more.

I’ve found, after living here, that it is the little things in life that make it fabulous. In case you are curious about how little the things are that bring happiness to my life, here is a list of a few…

Freshly washed sheets paired with freshly washed pajamas

A new podcast on my computer

A hug from my yiey (grandma)

Showers, especially hot ones

A smile from the girl at my most frequented restaurant

The smell of jasmine near my window

Group get-togethers with homemade Western food and lots of entertaining conversation

A question from a student in any language

Velveeta Shells and Cheese

Anything that comes from an oven

Finding email in my inbox after I’ve been away from internet for awhile

Ice

Plum and peppermint foot scrub and vanilla deodorant

Anything that allows me to scrub the grime off of myself

When my yiey says, “Yiey Sralang Jchaio,” or “Grandma loves Granddaughter”

The smell of Protex Propolis Honey scented soap

Pulling my mosquito net down before I sleep

Learning Aussie and British slang

Dancing with the oldest man in my village

Things from the bakery in Sway

A surprise phone call from friends or from abroad

Spicy Thai chili pepper sauce

Brown sugar and the oatmeal that I put it in

Full seasons of TV shows for less than $5

My Ipod

Hearing the word “Cher” (Teacher), instead of “Barang” (French/Foreign)

Exercise

Photographs

Surprising people with my Khmer after I’ve heard them talking about me

Staring back at anyone who is staring at me and watching them get uncomfortable (I practice this in moderation)

Things that bring the opposite of joy to my life

Not that I focus on the negative, but I’ve got to be honest… Some things here bother me almost all the time. And people should know.

Any combination of staring, old dirty men, military clothing, and conversation about the ‘barang’

The above thing in a place that I consistently frequent

Wedding/Funeral/Festival music blaring across the village at 5:00 in the morning

Drunken men with no filter trying to hit on the white gal

Roosters, and the fact that my house has a ton of them

My co-teacher slacking off, as he does more frequently all the time

Now, you may ask yourself what kind of nonsensical English “Hallowater” is, but first, let me explain. You may have thought of last week as the week of Halloween, the holiday of sugar rushes, costumes with varying degrees of cleverness, construction, and even sexiness, but Cambodia thought of last week as the week of Water Festival, also known as Bon Om Tuk.

Last year, I celebrated this holiday by going up north a bit to Banteay Chhmar with my family and inviting all of the PCVs from my province to join me. There were some boat races, some exploration of the local temple ruins, and lots of food and drink. All in all, a pretty excellent week.

This year, however, found the two holidays put together, with our vacation time for Bon Om Tuk coincidentally at the same time as the vacation we may have taken for Halloween. Life was good, and we decided to celebrate over in Siem Reap. Closer than Phnom Penh, but with the most options for night life and Halloween celebrating, it seemed like the perfect escape from the life that we are still enjoying but sometimes tire of; after all, those of us who can travel across the world don’t necessarily like to stay in the same place for 2 solid years, especially if that place is a bit more rural than we would prefer. Either way, after I had a quick stop with our new K3 Lisa at Deidre’s house on the road to Siem Reap, climbing a mountain and enjoying some great fish, we were on the way. We stayed with the K1 RPCVs who now live and work in the town, in their beautiful house with such amazing things as a microwave, a washing machine (which it took at least an hour for 3 of us to try to operate), and a basket of Hallowater candy courtesy of the amazing host called Kara.

Now, Siem Reap can get a bit tiresome for us at times. Things are extremely expensive in comparison to other places around the country, there are so many tourists that the whole town feels a bit like a rip-off, and the tuk-tuk drivers are some of the most obnoxious in the country. Beyond that, though, we blend in, which is a pleasant experience, and we can stock up on our favorite western cuisine and relax. This was one of the most pleasant of my weekends in Siem Reap; perhaps because of the crowd, perhaps because of the holiday, perhaps because of the activities, I’m not sure.

Our first day in the town consisted of a long pool trip – a small secluded place with a little waterfall and good fish and chips and shopping at Lucky Mart for all of our groceries… we did these things in an illogical order and took all the groceries to the pool…

Other activities throughout the weekend included watching The Shining with popcorn (!) on a big screen TV… Having a fantastic massage at a place called Bodia courtesy of our (have I said amazing enough times yet) hosts… Vegging out in front of the TV for hours… Vegging out at a local café for hours… Watching Dan cook a Hawaiian dish called moco loco and then enjoying it… Watching the boat races of the holiday and seeing huge crowds of Khmer folk around… Buying massive amounts of new music for the iPod… Finding most likely the smallest pork and rice stand in the town… and, of course, going out to celebrate Halloween!!!

We decided on Mexican food for our dinner that evening – It’s American-like and it was $1 Margarita Saturday… Our costume was a group one: Gang Green. Each one of us (Myself, Deidre, Stephanie, Adrian, Tyler, Anthony, and Dan) had one a green shirt and we walked together in unison. We felt clever. We went out for a few more drinks after dinner then went dancing at the closest thing to a club in the town. It was a blast, and there were plenty of other costumes. I saw togas, wings, chains, fake moustaches, and any number of oddly put together costumes. In fact, the guy that I danced with throughout the evening had a piece of the fake spider webs on his upper lip… It was quite a party, though I won’t bore you with any more of the details J

I feel that I must devote a paragraph to the foods that I ate over the course of my holiday. It may not be what you expect, from me or from any PCV. After weeks and weeks of rice, the things that I begin to crave are varied… I’ve begun to note that anything with dairy, or grease, or excessive sweetness makes me amazingly ill. It took over a week for me to recover from the food that I consumed this weekend… Fish and chips, Chicken and Camembert Salad, Cheese Quesadilla, Pizza, a Massive Cheeseburger, Pancakes, Grilled Cheese, Cereal and Yogurt, and a few Khmer dishes. Incredible. Sickening. Well Worth the Misery. And I can say that about any weekend of travel…

I can’t believe how busy I’ve been the past few weeks! It is amazing to have things to do, work that needs done, responsibilities to uphold. A soon as I get a taste of this, I never want it to end… So I’m trying a few new things with the hope that it doesn’t – things like assigning homework and actually checking it (though only one class actually does it themselves…the rest copy off one person). I’m planning on writing a blog each week, even when not much is happening. I’m planning on organizing everything in my computer as an extra only child thrill. I’m planning on learning how to cook all the things that my host mom can and more. It should be an eventful winter.

I’m also planning on finishing this project, the Appropriate Projects Bathroom that I just got funding for. At the moment, and for the past year, there has been no bathroom at my school, which is quite a problem for my female students, some of whom live several kilometers away from the school and who have to bike to and from school. We’ll begin construction this next week, I hope, and finish it soon.

http://appropriateprojects.com/taxonomy/term/33

In addition to all of that, my classes are doing well, and I have my own classroom to teach in as well, which means that I can do all sorts of things that I couldn’t do before. For example, I can play any manner of loud games that would otherwise distract all the other classes… I can put up artwork and visual aids for the English learners… I can even move the desks around however I wish. For those of you who don’t know, the normal way of things over here is for a set class of 40-50 students to have their own class (ie 11 A, 11 B, 11 C…) and their own room for their class alone. They stay in their same seats every hour of every class and the teachers move around. Most of their classrooms are bare, some with a picture of the king or a Khmer proverb, one with a painting of a dinosaur (?), and there is certainly no way to leave a visual aid in a class without worrying about its safety.

My school only has enough classrooms for 3 grades, even though it hosts 6, so in the mornings grades 9, 11, and 12 come to school and in the afternoons grades 7, 8, and 10 come. It is slightly inconvenient for any teacher who wishes to do something with art, granted that only teacher is me. So far, I have hung a map of the US and a Nat Geo map of space in my class, and the students LOVE it. They read all the names of the states and one even asked me where “Lo-a” is… He confused the “I” for an “L” and I didn’t know what he was saying until he spelled out my state.

The bottom line is that things are going well. I’m running into a bit of cultural misunderstanding with my co-teacher, but we’re working on things. I’ve also found that I’m a bit more sensitive some days to what used to be a bit of a novelty. People talking about me in front of me, being harassed a bit by strangers in places that I consider my stomping ground, staring and hellos… they’re all things that I’ve dealt with since the beginning, though I imagined that after a year in a single place that they would be a bit less pronounced. They’re not, and I’m beginning to regret my previous expectations.

However, I did get my first invitation to a party that was just for me, and that is pretty thrilling. I went, paid my respects, took some photos, and had a wonderful time. The to-be monk, the brother of one of my students, was super sweet, as was the rest of the family. He also looked fantastic – with blush and lipstick on… not to mention the drawn-on eyebrows. When I asked my family about this, they said that the monks need to be pretty for the party, which they can’t be after they have shaved their heads and their eyebrows off. He was also wearing a crocheted top and shiny pants. I was pretty happy around all the Khmer folk and the groups of yieys. I should also add that later that day I got a free ride into Sway because I “help Cambodia.” Unlike that last paragraph, this is what I would cal a “good Khmer day.”

There’s also the religious festival that I went to with my grandma. There was a money tree… need I say more?

About the weather – Rainy season is almost over and I am beginning to feel a chill in the air, something I have been looking forward to for about 7 months. A few more weeks and we will be in full winter… hello 70s!

http://appropriateprojects.com/node/58

Hey check it out!!! My school is building a bathroom and we could use your help!

So, I’ve lived here for a few months over a year now. I love it; I feel healthy and generally pretty relaxed, I am happy and less focused on the minute details that seemed to take over my life back at home, and I feel like I am devoted to learning here. I just discovered a few new podcasts from howstuffworks.com, all about interesting history, science, politics, inventions, you name it, and I’m filling my brain full of knowledge. It feels great, and I’m actually able to devote time to it without being distracted at the time I am losing. Cambodia has slowed me down, thank God.

Anyway, my knowledge is not what I am devoting this blog to… Instead, I thought I would share a few fun facts about Cambodia with you. This girl... who lives at the restaurant that I frequent... is currently learning how to walk.

There are some nasty ants here, who like all manner of things that I find a bit unusual. I have found them in the strangest things, which always upsets me given their tendency to bit me when I try to remove them from said thing. Their bites hurt worse than mosquito bites and make me more than uncomfortable. What are they into, you ask? Well let me give you a list…

I have found ants in the following places:

In and around my fiber supplement.

Inside my jars of peanut butter.

In the peppermint and plum foot scrub I have in the bathroom.

In my dose of one-a-day women’s multivitamins.

Eating chocolate.

In my containers of cotton swabs.

Pouring out of my light socket.

Filing out of my medical kit with my throat lozenges.

Diving into my damp clothes, most especially underwear.

In the trash can after Styrofoam donut boxes and any number of other things…

Chewing on bread.

On top of my bedside light.

In my pancake mix box.

In my bed. Eating any number of dead insects.In Deidre's Face Wash.Eating pancake batter from Anne's stove.

Allow me to simplify… I hate ants and how much they like the same things I do.

In other news, I received my first invitation that was just for me and not just for my family. It is to a “becoming a monk” party for the siblings of one of my students. It was a fabulous little party... and the monk looked very pretty!

Most recently acquired fun fact from my podcasts…white-out was created by a Texan secretary and patented in 1958 because new typewriters were difficult to type with and hard to erase. She thought like a painter and the other secretaries began asking how she did it… amazing!

I recently celebrated my second birthday in Cambodia… As my best friend said, “It’s 23, an unexciting age… Good thing you have Cambodia to make it memorable.” I had to agree. I’ve never really expected much from the birthday, at least as far as friends were concerned. It always seemed to fall at an inconvenient time… right after school began, when I didn’t know many people… Or around the time of a show in theatre. I didn’t even go out on my 21st…I was holed up in a theatre for the entire day! But this year, my birthday was amazing. Part of that, I think, is the fact that Cambodia and my life of non-stimulation make a lot of less-than-thrilling things pretty phenomenal. However, in this case, I think it would be great on any continent…

The birthday this year fell on a Thursday – which means that I had to go to school for a few hours. I went after a lovely breakfast at my favorite restaurant interjected with a States-side phone call (Thanks, Mom!). After going to school as usual, I may or may not have had a confrontation with my co-teacher because he wanted to not attend the 2 hours of class (the only 2 hours of class) that he and I had that day. I suppose I should have been excited about that, but he’s been getting flaky and we already get enough vacation time… almost to the point where the vacations outnumber the actual school days. Also, the day before had been a bit rough with me fielding some stranger danger harassment, and I wanted some student interaction to cheer me up. We ended up finishing our few hours of class, had a short, though heated, discussion about life and teaching and responsibility, and I went home for some rest. It isn’t often that I have to work that hard in a day.

I had a pleasant lunch with one of my favorite dishes (beef stew) which we subsequently had for dinner that evening, watched some episodes of the office and indulged in some purely only-child behavior… I re-organized photos and music on my computer. It was almost as good as organizing crayons like I did when I was younger. Side note: Dan, the other resident pseudo-only-child in the province told me that he used to organize and reorganize baseball cards – something about teams vs. card numbers – and we bonded over our OCD behavior.

I did take a short break from this exciting work… to make something even more exciting… BROWNIES! Now, I know I have mentioned before how much I miss things like that – basically anything involving an oven is non-existent here. But these I made in my house, with a big pot, a small tin cup, and a prayer, and it actually worked. We call it a Dutch Oven here, though the local Dutch folk have never heard of such a silly thing. And it worked surprisingly well, producing a nice batch of brownies that even the grandmas liked. Awesome. I lit a candle and blew it out with my family as they looked on in something akin to shock and confusion. I then proceeded to eat way too many brownies (despite my efforts to share) and get a tummy ache. It was so worth it.

And then… Friday.

On Friday I went down to Dan’s for a party that he was having with students from a club he had over the summer. They cooked a big (big!) pot of soup, some fried ribs with pineapple, and grilled fish at his place and enjoyed a big group lunch together. It was lovely, and improved with the fact that I had picked up a package at the post office before I came over and opened it while they were cooking. We’re saving the asparagus and cinnamon apples (!) until Thanksgiving, I think, but we tore through the chocolate and watched the movie immediately. Dan and Anthony did not appreciate Unaccompanied Minors as I do… maybe we’ll have to watch it closer to Christmas ;) I also received a lovely card from Deidre (hand-made!) with pictures from all the time I’ve been here collaged together on scented paper. I was so excited!!

More people filtered into Dan’s place as the night went on, and soon the majority of the Banteay Meanchey crew was there, as well as Matt, who came all the way up from Kampot (that’s way south, on the beach) to celebrate with us. The boys played Risk and the girls played cards and we kept ourselves segregated for the evening.

Saturday – the big party.

Saturday was a pretty busy day, well, relatively speaking. There was rice and pork for breakfast (Imagine a small restaurant with seven foreigners in it; two of them over 6 feet tall…ha!). Followed by cleaning and shopping. Followed by a nap. Followed by cooking. Some people also played Risk (Boys only). It was excellent.

The menu:

Starters –

Spinach Cheese Dip made with morning glory and laughing cow cheese served with shredded baguettes that were toasted with olive oil.

Mashed Potato Mayonnaise Veggie Dip served with chopped carrots and cucumbers.

Balsamic Vinegar and Olive Oil Dip served with French bread.

Peanuts.

Main Course –

Beef and Onion or Black Bean burgers served with sliced French bread and a selection of condiments including ketchup, mustard, lettuce, onions, and tomatoes.

Desert –

Banoffee Pie (British desert with a sweet bread base, banana layers, and reduced condensed milk slathered all over it)

Birthday Cake!!! It maybe had the wrong date written on it, but at least my name was spelled right!

Drinks –

Beer, beer, beer, and beer.

Beer Pong was also involved, which was great for our two non-American guests. Anna (Britain) and Anne (Australia) made up a very special team called “the commonwealth minus New Zealand” and tried to distract us by explaining cricket and Aussie rules football (which is just a fancy was of saying that there are no rules) and did fairly well with their first attempt at American frat house life! I partnered with Anthony and we are undefeated – Go Team America F*** Ya! We drank and chatted into the late night (almost 1:00!) and everything was wonderful.

It was a phenomenal birthday… there were tons of good friends (The Banteay Meanchay 7 + Matt + Adrian, Steph, and Will from Siem Reap), more food than I’ve ever seen, and a lot of great games, not to mention gifts and cake!

I just bought a few new albums from our local Boom Boom Room, aka the place where digital albums are a dollar and there are thousands of choices. I thought I would share this with the world, as it has made my most recent bus trip a little more bearable.

1. Jay-Z - Blueprint 3

2. Outkast - Idlewild (Movie Soundtrack)

3. Santogold - Santogold

4. Keri Hilson - In a Perfect World

5. Nas - Greatest Hits

6. Handsome Boy Modeling School - So...How's your girl

Just a few of the things running through my ipod right now as I also download some new podcasts about health, vocabulary, and trivia.

It has been quite a summer! So exciting, in fact, that I barely know where to begin… although I think I may go backwards from this very moment.

At this precise moment, I am sitting in the living room of the apartment at the Himawari Hotel, where I stayed on my lovely Fourth of July adventure. Melissa, my host, was kind enough to let me back into her apartment, taking some pity on my Peace Corps lifestyle. So, I’m living it up – calling friends, doing laundry (in a machine!), baking, and playing with Wii and wifi and TV and all those goofy conveniences that have escaped me for the past year. It’s great – I feel very pampered and it thrills me to have all of these things so readily available.

I just came to Phnom Penh yesterday. We came in to celebrate Dan’s birthday. He is now, officially, 30… which was very exciting for us. I rushed to bake a yellow cake with chocolate frosting for him, and we spelled out the word “old” with the candles. It’s our running joke as he is the oldest in the province. Our little party consisted of some good Italian food, a cake that we brought out to the Khmer birthday song, and a good selection of friends: Deidre, Anthony, Matt, Adrian, and of course, Dan! And then we went out to a dance bar and taught Adrian some moves while Matt got hit on by some tiny Khmer ladies… all in all, a lovely evening!

We did rush the birthday cake a bit… Dan, Deidre and I just came back from a Kampot and beach adventure. Talk about relaxing! Two days in the capital of lazy Kampot province, relaxing by the river with fish and chips and barbeque, walking around the little town and seeing the sights, having fun with some children at the pagoda, and seeing a new pace with new people. We found our way to Rabbit Island, after a lovely boat ride in the Gulf of Thailand and relaxed on a beach for a night of bliss. I had my first plate of crab, which I thought was delicious, learned how to devour fresh fish, which I liked, tried some squid, which I wasn’t a big fan of, and devoured some fried prawns, which were damn tasty… My east coast/west coast friends taught me the nuances of getting to crab meat without any cracking tools and the fine art of dining on prawns and whole fish. We swam, we laid out, we read books, and I got a true vacation.

Vacation from what, you may ask? Well, my big project this summer has been Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World)… Basically, it is a 3 day workshop for fifteen grade 10 girls focused on leadership, careers and scholarships for the future, and self-confidence, something which the girls here are lacking a little. We held our first camp in Banteay Meanchey, my province, and it was beyond successful. And now, we have another camp in Pursat this week! It’s been a thrilling project, $3000 of fun, and I am so happy with the results. I’m also happy with the TEFL Manual for fellow Volunteers and the training that I presented it at, as well as the travelling that I’ve had the pleasure of doing, and with the career workshop that the BM crew put together!

I travelled with my mother! And how exciting life was; I’m pretty sure she had a good time, despite the water rooms with butt blasters and the ridiculous heat. Life was perfect – in Bangkok, our teary eyed reunion…to Sway, our first Cambodia experience…to Thmar Puok, where we got the full rural tour…to Siem Reap, full of temples and tasty food…to Battambang, for birthdays at Riverside and high mountains…to Phnom Penh, the bustling capital, full of life and fun…to Kampong Tralach, where families love their host kids’ friends…and back to Phnom Penh for more shopping, more entertainment, and another teary eyed goodbye offset only by Deidre’s presence. It was easily the best two weeks ever… and my whole family is dying for her to come back.

So, that’s been the past few months, minus a few details of course. Life is good, and my summer feels fulfilled in a way I never expected. I love this place and I am so happy to have shared it…

It has been one year since I left my mom and grandma in the Des Moines International Airport and jetted off to my new life here in Cambodia. And, as our new shirts say.... we can go no farther than this. I am around the world. I can barely believe it; the time has gone by so fast, even though the days themselves often seem long and lazy. And there is so much to say about a year here…

I’ve gotten to know this place, this tiny Southeast Asian country sandwiched between quickly developing countries though doing very little developing itself. I know that Siem Reap, the province with the famous temples, is one of the poorest provinces despite the massive tourism draw that it brings. I know that most of the country is more rural than Iowa and that the cities aren’t equipped to handle the number of people in them. I know that the barang population is substantial, though I wouldn’t want to be around the majority of them. And, I know that this place continually surprises me when I least expect it – mostly, I’ve found, by showing me how little I know about where I live, or how to live here, or the people who have mastered the art of living here…

But even still, I do feel like I know my way around. I can travel with no trouble and I know the language well enough to figure out what I need to (especially with my family, since they understand that special blend of words that I call Khmer and take the time to figure out what I am trying to express instead of just what I am saying). And with each visitor that I meet from abroad, be it friends of family, I gradually learn just how ingrained certain aspects of the culture have become… When Dan’s mom was here, Deidre and I slipped off our flip-flops to enter a market stall out of pure habit; I feel like I’ve spent half of my time here barefoot, something that I fully intend to bring back with me. Deidre’s twin remarked on how unusual the breakfasts of hot noodle soup or rice with pork and pickled veggies is, though I quite enjoy both of these meals and have since forgotten the greasy feasts I had back home. I’m sure that my mom will open my eyes to even more things that I have grown accustomed to and the ways that I have changed…

After a year of service here, I feel like a changed woman. I’ve had more time, and more opportunity, to think and reflect than I’ve ever had before. There’s no TV to drain the life out of me for hours at a time, no college work to draw me in 20 different directions, little occasion or desire to indulge in retail therapy, and so much waiting that my mind has gone into overdrive thinking of ways to spend my time. The barang population in my area is small and tight-knit, and we talk, and talk, and talk… about anything and everything. I’ve read a book for every week I’ve been here… from Lolita to Eat Pray Love. I’ve also begun to see myself differently, because the woman in the mirror is 70 pounds lighter than the one that I saw a year ago. Dan and Deidre laughed at me the other day, I tried on a shirt that Dei’s mom sent her and had an irrational show of joy because it fit me… and it was a size small. A new body, a new culture, a new crowd of people… it is impossible to not change.

I’m even learning about cultures that I didn’t expect to – I can now make Irish potato cakes and have learned that the Brits have very different dessert customs than the Americans. Did you know that they eat Jell-o (well, they say Jelly) with ice cream and cake without ice cream (supposedly because their cakes have filling that makes ice cream unnecessary). In fact, for being pretty similar in people, in language, in tradition… the American Volunteers and British/Irish Volunteers can find a lot of differences to talk about. I never thought that I would get such a broad scope of experiences here!

Speaking of experiences, you have never lived until you have gotten drunk with a group of yieys (grandmas) from this culture – they are the coolest. And, my grandma is (by far) the coolest person in my host family, with her sniff kisses and her smile with her prominent front teeth, and her odd repetitions of English words that I say and actions that I do, and her cheering whenever I dance to the music in my iPod. You should also attend a Khmer party and dance in a circle, just to see how many drunk men lose their inhibitions and try to hit on you. Or, get in a jump roping competition with a 14 year old boy who doesn’t really know how to jump rope. Or, watch your little brother go through a big bottle of bubbles in a matter of days. Or, find some very cute Khmer children who like you and watch them smile every day (my favorite one is at the restaurant where I usually eat breakfast in the mornings). Or, pass the day with a book in a hammock. Or, go to a house party full of barangs from different places and share food like banoffee pie (Banana + Toffee) and games like pass the parcel (Or, Paarss the Paarcul) while you tease one another about accent and common slang or word usage (this occupies a majority of our time). Or, just get back to the simple life – and love it.

There is too much to say about a year here – too much happens in too little a time, even though it seems that time stands still. Cambodia feels like it is suspended in air, like they are waiting for something to happen that never will. And I feel similarly, as I try to change the habits of a few people… nothing ever really seems to… I can only hope that at the end of my 2 years that I will see something from my efforts. We will see – One more year to go!

In short…

Things I miss

-Grandma’s cooking and the smell of her kitchen on Sunday morning.

-Driving.

-Dairy products.

-NPR Radio.

-Snow… even though it will brutally readjust me to an Iowa climate.

Things I don’t miss

-Wal-Mart.

-Advertisements.

-Commercialism.

Things I want to bring back

-The idea of a Water Closet, a big room where water splashing is perfectly acceptable.

-My yiey.

-Living with a breeze always flowing through the house.

-Long bike rides through rice paddies and energy for exercise.

-Family style dining (ie sharing a few main dishes with only a personal bowl of rice).

-Shoe-free zones.

Things I don’t want to bring back

-The word, “Hello,” which is screamed at me constantly no matter what I do to try to escape it.

-Incessant stares while I do the most menial of tasks.

-Ants that eat: cotton swabs, plum foot scrub, light sockets, underwear, me, peanut butter, computer guts, trash, raincoats, and medicine.

-My current ignorance of all cultural trends of the Western World.

Independence Day

Like Christmas and Thanksgiving and Easter, I have never in my life done anything different for this holiday – that is, not until this year. And I was not disappointed. For this year, on my nation’s birthday, I had the honor of singing the National Anthem (of Cambodia) for two very different parties at the Embassy – which means that I was invited to and enjoyed two different parties at the Embassy.

But I will start at the beginning. On the 2nd of July, my buddy Deidre and I took the very long bus ride down to Phnom Penh from our provincial town. Neither of us are in the provincial town, and with the rainy season destroying the road, it takes me about 1½ hours to get from my home to Sway. Deidre, with her new road, only needs about 20 minutes to make the same trip. But it takes both of us about 7 hours to get down to the Penh.

Almost as soon as we got in, we went to the Peace Corps office and jetted on to the Embassy for a rehearsal – this was more fun than it sounds, because the five of us (myself, Deidre, Matt from Kampot, Lydia from K. Cham, and Steph from Siem Reap) we so excited to be on American soil, especially when it was decorated so well. The whole courtyard was a splash of red white and blue and the stage had carpet on it. We went through the program with the embassy staff and ended up at our homestay…

Now when I first heard the word ‘homestay,’ I began to think of the houses that the Peace Corps staff have – Cheryl, my boss, has a gorgeous home, with all the amenities of home that I am no longer accustomed to (See: oven, kitchen utensils, AC, TV in English, carpet, furniture, etc, etc, etc). This blew away all of my expectations. Our homestay happened to be with a person who stays in a hotel – the Himawari hotel – arguably one of the nicest hotels in the country (See: pool, sauna, fitness room, buffet breakfast with bacon, eggs, toast, OJ, oatmeal, and then some, kimono robes, Bath and Body Works toiletries, fluffy towels… Plus our host had Wii and excellent cooking skills). We were in heaven, and that is not an understatement. This is one of the nicest places I have ever been in (ever!), let alone coming from a simple life in the Cambodian countryside.

I could go on and on, I’m sure, but I’ll progress to the party. After getting our hair done at a salon, the four gals got dressed, picked up our solitary male, and headed over to the Embassy in our fancy white Khmer shirts and traditional skirts. It was even more decorated than the day before, with tables set up throughout the area, a Statue of Liberty ice sculpture, and food stations everywhere. I should elaborate, perhaps – Free food stations. But we’ll get to that later.

We sang our song, which was beautiful, watched the marines, took some photos, met the Ambassador and chatted, met some other people from the Embassy, talked with our host (Melissa, FBI), and generally enjoyed the ambiance. We dug in to the food – a buffet with all kinds of foods – and stuffed ourselves full. We also enjoyed the free Swenson’s ice cream and the (prepare yourself) chocolate fountain with the strawberries, muffin bits, kiwi and grapes that accompanied it. Oh – did I mention that there was free liquor? Glass by glass, the white wine disappeared, usually to the group that surrounded the chocolate fountain.

We ended the night by heading over to the nicest bar in the city (in the Raffles hotel), where a kind RPCV and his friend, in town write a book about Cambodia, bought us all drinks and told us stories of the old days…

The Next Day

Breakfast – I have to reminisce – fluffy scrambled eggs with onions and peppers, cocoa peppers, apple juice, mocha, bacon, cheese, toast and jam, mmmmmm…..

After some chill time in the hotel, we went on to our second engagement. We were looking sharp in new white shirts and our jeans, and went in like rock stars through the back entrance of the building. We sang our song as the Marines presented the colors again, and then we enjoyed the party.

I’ll set the scene for this one: food stands throughout the yard, with barbeque, Mexican, and any number of other semi-American things, Coke included, for sale; hot dog eating contest (which was won by one of the color-presenting marines as his leader cheered him on); a band with a gal in heels and a corset top and two boys singing American tunes (one of the boys kept winking at us the night before, and was very nice); children with blond hair (you may need to visit before you understand the rarity of said sight); American flag sheet cake; circus people (jugglers, tumblers, clowns, and the like… from the NGO circus in Battambang); English-speakers as far as the eye could see; Barack Obama mask; and some pretty cool Peace Corps Volunteers.

It was perfect. There was no parade, no pancakes, none of my family, but this was the best place to be besides back at home.

And then…

Upon returning to the hotel, I joined Deidre and some of the other girls for a night out on the town in celebration of Deidre’s birthday! We ate tapas at a place near the office, went out to a loungey bar, and went dancing, and life was good once again…

It would seem that some awesome ancient civilizations liked the area that I now live in… Between Banteay Chhmar, which I’ve written about, about 16 km from my home, the little temple ruins in my own town (complete with Hindu elephant) and this other temple, Banteay Torp, about 13 km from my home, there is a lot to see. They are trying to rebuild part of Banteay Chhmar and turn it into a UNESCO World Heritage Site, therefore putting it on the heavily toured areas of Cambodia, granted they will need to fix the road first. But Banteay Torp is pretty cool as well, and far more remote.

So I started out in the morning for a nice bike ride up to this temple. I was determined to find it. I rode north, on the road of hell (this isn’t an exaggeration… and you need to experience it to believe me) for about 10 km before I saw the typical gateway proclaiming a temple to the right. I turned and kept going for another 2-3 km, finding a pagoda, a primary school, a massive lake, and very interested rice farmers as I went on. I barely saw the turn off for the temple because it is old and well disguised at the base of a hill, but I turned, and rode a bit more, and all of a sudden I saw this pile of rocks rise up out of nowhere.

It was incredible – a silent temple, somewhat destroyed like Banteay Chhmar and much smaller, yet still structurally intact. There are still carvings intact, and the different colored stones shimmer in the sun. I climbed around the 4 different towers and even got followed by some young boys investigating the foreigner.

Amazing. And I must say, the people there were great. I got hellos from a group of women transplanting rice and went down to greet them - very lovely farming folk! What was less amazing was when I got a flat tire in the middle of the ride back to the main road. The roads down to the temple and back from it were a little bumpy and steep, so I can’t say I’m that surprised, but it was mighty inconvenient. But, I went to the nearest repair shop where I paid a whopping 25 cents to get my tire fixed before I went on home to have pineapple stir fry with my grandma.

It is a normal Thursday, to be sure: A completely average school day which should have lasted until 11 but quit around 9:30 due to the absence of teachers, or rather, their absence from the classroom in light of other more exciting activities on school grounds. I gave some oral exams, had some kids ogle over pictures of the Midwest that I brought (they think that the downtown river area of Omaha and the view from the Knoxville exit on the way to my grandmas are particularly beautiful, and they love the picture of my on the bridge of the big cement block known as my college theatre. They think that the picture I have of Sarah and Grant’s wedding is me in disguise and the concept of slides and playground equipment is more than foreign. And even though they have never heard of baseball, the Orioles stadium is very pretty – note said photos in this blog). This is fairly common – Khmer people Love pictures with a capital L, both when it is people that they know and when it is people that they don’t. It was uncommon, though, to watch 4 full grown Khmer men, teachers, plaster tiny circle stickers with pictures of butterflies and ladybugs and flowers all over their cell phones. This just reinforces the ideas in my head that there is a different kind of ‘masculinity’ here.

And so I left school thinking about that kind of masculinity… not that I got very far… even though the boys here spend more time on their hair in one morning than I spend on my entire beauty (I use this word with caution) regime for a week, the older ones still want nothing to do with advice from a younger woman and my sister is suffering the same sort of crazy boy syndrome that seems to follow me in my relationships as well. We even ranted together at the lunch table and my sister professed her anger (an extraordinary event, for Khmer women to talk about their feelings and gossip and ask for advice…I actually gave the same advice that my buddy Deidre gave me last week in our ongoing discussions of the opposite sex).

And again, in my normally quiet time, after I played with a very chubby and happy baby at the local coffee house and sat back to enjoy my coffee with ice and condensed milk and the last few chapters of a hilarious Sedaris novel, I encountered not one, but two separate occasions of begging. Now, let me elaborate. Begging is not uncommon…in the city. I fully expect to be propositioned when I am in the middle of the market enjoying a bowl of noodles, or when I walk the streets of Phnom Penh, or traverse some of the more touristy areas of the country. But in my own town?? It is unheard of, so twice in one day is quite a record! No that they weren’t funny… the first was a small boy who obviously saw dollar signs on my white skin and stopped on his way back from the market to just see what would happen. And the second was a middle aged man who was holding more in his hand than I had on my person. In fact, since I just came over for a coffee, I only had 50 cents, and when he showed me the example of what he wanted (cash, just to clear that up), there was considerably more than I even had in cash anywhere. I told him this, in Khmer, and that I had nothing else, and he refused to listen and badmouthed foreigners for a few minutes before stumbling out.

I think I mentioned in my last blog that it is rainy season. Today I found that it is sneaky, considering I left my house one minute, on a quest for snacks and noodles, and ended up in a torrential downpour that drove me into my cousins house for a solid 10 minutes and ruined the previously dry road with slippery mud that made me slide about and forced me to remove my shoes else they be sacrificed, stuck forever in the wet dirt. The rain turned my pleasant jaunt to and from the market into a challenging obstacle course complete with rivers, footprints that may be wider than they are long (quite a feat for me, as those of you who have gone shoe shopping with me can understand), and, as usual, the occasional pile of manure. I also had a follower, a young cousin whose hair is just the same as mine and who talks to me in the simple child’s vocabulary that I can understand. Seyma escorted me to the market and back on her tiny bike and talked about her brother and baby sister and the mud and the rain. It was lovely and abnormal – even though they are no longer afraid of me, the children who know me are still a little hesitant about how cool I am… I’m trying to work on that, not always an easy feat when you were once the boogeyman.

I suppose I should mention that one other extraordinary event is that I have actually kept myself busy all day long – between stickers and coffee and ranting and market time and children and blogging and preparing for the rain, well… it’s been nice. Oh… and there was that whole daddy-long-legs-demolishing-a-fly-in-the-bathroom incident… that was pretty cool too.

I decided to go biking after a particularly rainy day, my gears got stuck with mud and I got a little more than dirty… In addition to what you can see here, there were splatters of mud up my back, all over the front of my shorts and shirt, smears of it on my arms, and flakes of it on my face and in my hair. When I met up with a crew of my students in another village, they spent a good 10 minutes telling me how messy I was, another 5 cleaning up my brakes which were still a bit clogged, and probably a good hour after I left laughing at me and the pieces of mud that had found their way onto every surface of my body. I did get my bike washed the next day, granted it has rained and is now dirty once again.

Oftentimes, because one teacher teaches as many students want private class as they have (it’s a main source of income for said teachers, so the more the merrier), some students end up looking in through the window after the room holds more desks than it ever has and those desks are packed with students 3 or 4 to a bench. I’m not sure I’ve ever mentioned it, but there really is no personal space bubble here. I see the boys leaping onto one another and cuddling on the benches throughout the day, and girls hold hands and link arms when they walk, sometimes hugging when I make them nervous by saying hello, and they stack up to make room for me when I go to breakfast in the morning, even after I tell them not to worry – its just the culture. Anyway, after they are packed in, the rest look from the windows… and here is a photo of that.

So, last week I taught the ‘funeral’ unit for the grade 12 class, and because my co-teacher was kind enough to leave me in the middle of first period for some work with the VSOs at the hospital (Voluntary Service Overseas… the Peace Corps of the rest of the world, HQed in the UK). I love my fellow VSOs, they are awesome and do fantastic work. I am, however less excited that this particular teacher gets paid a salary to work one day a week if in fact he does actually work that day. That is beside the point. Since I only see these students one day a week and their English isn’t incredible (because they don’t have regular instruction…), I decided to do a comparison of Khmer funerals and American funerals, at least what I could remember. I haven’t been to many funerals at home and I have forgotten a lot about what happens – After a year of living abroad, I am somewhat surprised to find out how much has slipped from my mind about my own culture. This is the board after that class…between the morbid (and useless) vocabulary, and the ideas that were inches away from slipping out of my students’ grasp (the graveyard, and what to do when it gets full; the potluck dinner, and the idea that others would bring food to a gathering; the color black, and why it should be worn to a religious event; communal singing; burial; and funeral homes), it was a pretty fun day.

So with the each month’s full moon, I’ve found that my normally dreamless sleep gets a little clouded with images of all the people and things in my life. Most recently, actually, I’ve had an odd triad of dreams that are just plain odd, mainly because they aren’t as odd as dreams usually are.

One. As part of my summer plans, I have an honors class of 10 students, and I just gave the test today to decide which 10 out of the 30-some interested students would be able to study. The class was my friend and fellow PCV Deidre’s idea for her school, and it sounded so awesome that I wanted to do it myself. So… my dream was all about her exam and my trying to guess what she had on it. I don’t understand why, given my own exam was just fine but…

Two. One of my first months here, I put all four seasons of The Office on my computer, courtesy of my friend Bob’s ipod and Davey’s computer skills. I have watched these Office seasons more than I think appropriate and have officially become an addict. Well, the 5th season recently had its finale, and a few of the PCVs were talking about buying it, which brings me to my dream. I dreamt that I was going to buy season 5 of the Office next week when I was in Phnom Penh, with Bob, and was ecstatically happy. Bob and I are both anxious to see if the copyright laws are cool enough here to allow us to have access to that…

Three. This one is my favorite. It’s a little fuzzy, but it was something like me in an airport, with my cousin Katie, going somewhere not in the US… but I was entering the airport and planning on going ahead with her, just on the way. Except, I had no plane ticket for my next destination and my mother, who was with me for some reason, was very upset with me. Something about me being irresponsible and not preparing for things. She was upset in the dream… upset enough that I woke up and reconsidered any sort of request for a long amount of time… At least my grandma was there too!

Well, its official: rainy season has begun. Which means, of course, that the road from my house to anywhere that I would need to be (the city, the school, the market, the coffeehouse) is completely horrendous. There is a giant never-ending puddle that I have to cross on the way to school, which means that my shoes and my feet and the bottom of my teaching skirt are always filthy and that I haven’t seen the silver in my bike for ages.

On the other hand, I am happy to say that I finally made it to the chapter that I taught in practicum: Folk Tales. For this chapter, there are three equally entertaining sections: The Tiger and the Monk, about a monk who heals a tiger, who in turn gets angry and tries to kill the monk; Who Stole the Baby, about a woman who stole a baby off of the riverbank and tried to sell her until the King intervened with his infinite wisdom; and, The Magic Bird, about a man who finds a bird who talks and lays golden eggs until his gossiping wife gets greedy and kills the bird to try to find the big egg store.

It’s a very Cambodian chapter… but one with lots of things to do – I told the first story with little pictures of the monk, tiger, and other characters, then had the students tell the story in small groups to practice public speaking. And then I had the students act out the baby-stealing story, which got some of my girls up and out of their shy shells. It was excellent, and finally… finally, after a full year of teaching, I feel like my students are stepping out of their comfort zones and actually getting the feel of student-centered learning. I see what the other Peace Corps Volunteers say… the second year is so much better than the first. After you feel settled, after you are comfortable with the daily aspects of life, you can finally begin to branch out and do some real work.

In other news… I’ve found that weight loss is not necessarily the most convenient thing that could happen. Of all the clothed that I brought to Cambodia, only two things that I have still fit: one polo shirt and a jacket. Everything else is too big, has been tailored, or has been given to the great pile in the Volunteer room for others to take. I have found this to be a bit irritating, taking all my skirts in and re-sewing things to make them fit again. Ah, the price you pay. I’m still happy, especially because I know that I’m a bit of a special case; lots of the other volunteers are having trouble keeping weight off. I’m also thrilled at feeling so good, the best I have felt in my life. That’s Peace Corps for you!

Check this out... more info and a blog to follow shortly!

http://www.habitat.org/newsroom/2009archive/05_01_2009_JRCWP_Peace_Corps.aspx#P1_12

My Malaysian Adventure with Bri

*FYI… this is a long post… There was a lot to see.

**Side note: There are very few pictures because my camera got stolen mid-trip.

No worries, though.

It all began on the flight from Phnom Penh to Kuala Lumpur. I met a cute Malaysia guy who bought me a Pepsi and taught me a bunch of Malay words (Thank you: Terima Kasih. Your Welome: Samua Samua), then just talked with me through my anxiousness on the flight. I’m not scared of flying, or of much, but I realized that it is basically the first trip that I’ve taken that hasn’t been led by anyone but me. Peace Corps is one easy trip, as were all my trips around the States and even my trek to Uganda (I was with Ugandans and didn’t have to figure anything out myself). But this trip is mine, and I made it.

I went on the trip with a gal named Bri, who lives in a different province as me in Cambodia. We have the same adventurous spirit and desire to live cheap and without guides. That may come into play later…we’ll see.

Day 2: Kuala Lumpur.

We woke up and got ready, the Petronas Towers in mind. After looking around the massive place, we finally realized how to go and get tickets, which we did. We took a quick walk through the city over to the other Tower, the KL Tower, which ended up as a massively touristy (Snow Park…?) and very disappointing adventure. We didn’t go up, just walked around, then went over to Chinatown for some hot and sour soup (delicious!!) Back at the towers, we watched a 3D movie (lame, though fortunately there was a pack of cute Uruguayan men who were keeping us entertained), then went up to the archway of the towers for a photo shoot (which meant that Bri was laying down on the carpet a lot). Then we celebrated with Dunkin Donuts. We kept walking, and found ourselves at a mall full of food – the Pavilion. There are 4 floors of food, or at least that is what it seemed – all foods, every kind of food. I ate Subway and tasted my favorite of the 31 Flavors – Chocolate Peanut Butter. And we also went to see “He’s Just Not That Into You,” in a real movie theatre, with real popcorn and soda, and real comfy seats. It was incredible!!

Day 3: Off to the Jungle.

In the morning, we had some of the best coffee I have ever tasted, from a little Indian restaurant – a little sweet, frothy, and lovely. Then we hopped on a bus to a bus to get to a bus to the jungle. While we were waiting for the little bus to the jungle, we indulged with some KFC – and this ended up being more eventful than I had previously expected.

While we were enjoying our delicious fried chicken, we were sitting near these two Malaysian guys, making minimal eye contact for the sheer reason of them being the only other people to look at. We got up to leave, slowed with our backpacks, and they timed their exit to match ours. They made beautiful kissing noises to our backs as we walked away and we thought that they had taken off. But then, after we are seated in our (very old and crappy local) bus, at the very back row, the cuter of the two boys came up to knock on the window and talk to us. We humored him, though he spoke zero English, and he began gesturing to try to get us into their big blue truck. We declined, and he tried a few more times, going back and forth between the truck and the bus to talk to his friend and then back to gesture to us. We once again thought they had gone after they pulled up close to the bus along the side and then peeled out of the parking lot. But, alas, they showed up just after the bus started moving and followed the bus for a good solid half hour, even after the bus stopped twice to let out passengers.

Fortunately, they lost interest and we went on enjoying our hour long bus ride to the jungle. Now, let me set the scene for the rest of this ride. We are sitting in the very back row, our backpacks strewn about the long seat, and the rest of the bus is Malay people of various ages – there is a pack of teenagers, some children running about, an older man who is chatting to the rest of the bus, and a few more scattered here and there. The teens are the closest to us – a bunch of boys and a girl who keep changing their seats. It begins to rain, and the old man motions for us to close our windows. The rain is pouring across the bus away from me, so I don’t bother, but it is hitting Bri directly and her attempts to close the window in front of her fail as it plops down as soon as she lets go of it. She closes it. It falls. She tries. It falls. One of the teens had been paying attention, and with the encouragement of his friends came to sit right in front of us and closed the window. It fell again, still spraying Bri and even me with rain water. So, he closed it again and held it up – and the bus went wild, with some sporadic clapping and cheers. I adore the Malay people.

We ended up in the little village adjacent to the entrance of the jungle and found a cute little hostel with a cool guy named Zeck at the helm. It was nothing special, but we had our own room (with some 8 beds), free breakfast, and lots of Bob Marley music. Plus, one of Zeck’s protégé’s practiced his English with us and let me listen to some cool Malay tunes from his native north.

Day 4: The Jungles at Teman Negara Park.

We started off bright and early with the barest of supplies, and with no guide. That’s how we roll. We began trekking around, seeing unusual plants, hearing cool sounds, and just experiencing the awesomeness of the whole thing. We walked around on the longest Canopy Walkway in the world, which was super cool – a bird’s eye view of the whole area. We kept trekking about, and Bri took a dip in the river (which got her a leech bite) and I got a few cuts on my feet (which got me two leech bites). We passed a couple of other people on the trail – we “raced” a group of middle aged tourists to the walkway without them knowing so, of course, and won; we chatted with a few bird-watchers who had very soothing voices and lots of fancy bird watching tools (including a pricey ipod and speakers that played bird noises) and they let me look through their binoculars at the bird that they had found; we had a stare down with a semi-odd fella near one of the hides. Side note: at this point, Bri had taken off her shirt for the heat and the bird watchers had to have noticed that something was amiss as she ties a kroma around herself for some basic modesty… we weren’t expecting to run into anyone in the jungle wilderness. We climbed a mountain in the jungle as well, just a little one, but thrilling nonetheless. The more thrilling part of that adventure was going down the mountain… the descent was pretty brutal.

After a little lunch (where we were tagged as “backpackers,” something I had never considered myself as before then), we went to a cave. It was a good afternoon trek, as we were about exhausted with pushing ourselves so far from before. We went right past a native village on our way and even saw a few people milling about (we didn’t want to disturb anyone there and we weren’t dressed for visiting). We got to the cave and followed a very intelligent rope that made a trail through the steep rocks and bumps of the interior. Did I mention that this was a bat cave? A few of the bigger slabs on the ceiling had hundreds of bats resting in their upside down hang – and it was incredible! Well, not only were there bats, but there was also bat guano, and by the time we emerged from that cave we were covered in all kinds of nasty. It was worth it – there were so many sights and so much to do there.

We finished the evening with some food as we watched a volleyball match in the sand. In the town, all the restaurants are floating and everything is on or near the river – which made for some outstanding views of the area. There was a beautiful bend with some rapids right outside the hostel window, and we listened to that every moment of the day.

Day 5: More traveling…

After a chill morning relaxing by the jungle, we took a slow boat back to the main city. We sat behind a beautiful French family with children that kept getting in trouble for spraying water on us (though we just laughed at it). Then began the long wait for the train to the north. We filled the time by chatting with people – I met a lovely German couple who were traveling for the better part of a year all around Asia. Talk about a dream vacation – they saved money for a few years and quit everything and went. Then there was a great Haitian-American man who was so gentle and sweet, and we talked about life here and there and everywhere. Then a young French/German guy who works for a cigarette company and makes more money than I can fathom, who was headed for the jungle on vaca from his work in Switzerland/Singapore/Malaysia. And a few Eastern European gals who were beyond grateful for the loan of our English People magazine. And finally, in the train station, while we waited for the train the was about 4 hours late, we played Yahtzee with a pair of German gentleman, Thomas and Florian, who we ended up traveling with to the islands.

Day 6 and 7: Palau Perhentians

We took the first speedboat out to the islands, a good half an hour journey, and made it to the most beautiful place I have ever seen. In these islands the water is crystal clear, the sand is soft and white, the view out to the ocean is unmarred and sweetened with green mountainous islands scattered around… the waves are gentle and create lovely white foam as they crash on the beach… and even the cheapest housing on the beach has a five star view of the ocean.

We hopped into the South China Sea and spent the day lazing about and enjoying the sunshine and the company of our new German friends – they are mathematicians, by the way, and they drew a map of Germany in the sand for us to show us where they are from.

The next day we went snorkeling – wow! There were a bunch of us – Thomas and Florian, a Dutch couple, a young British couple, and us. I had never done anything like this before, and it was so incredible! We went to a site with lots of fish in every color and size and shape – then some Malay guys gave me some bread and the fish swarmed up and ate it from my hands. Some of them even bit me, an understandable mistake given how pale I am. Fun fact: the plankton in this particular sea sting your skin for a moment as you swim by – it is a tingly feeling. I saw a little shark in my snorkeling adventure… and I touched one of the giant sea turtles as he came up for air – a little graze on his giant shell before he dove back down to the bottom to eat some more.

After this adventure, we trekked over to the other side of the island to watch the sun set over the sea and ended up chatting with a cool Indian-American guy who works in… Cambodia! I spent my evening chatting with him and a bunch of young Brits and Canadians, a big group of party-goers on vacation from school and life.

Day 8 and 9: More travel and Singapore!

And then the island adventure was over… and we left, meeting a cool French guy and a chill British dude on the way back. We traveled with them (a good choice, I think, because the taxi drivers in the little town ran some sort of cruel monopoly and they tried to involve the public buses as well. Our Frenchman told the bus that he had better let us on… and he did). We went up, hoping to catch a bus to Singapore (though they were all gone) and ended up down in KL again, before we backtracked to Singapore.

We never actually intended on a trip to Singapore, and I do wish I would have had more time there, but because we only wanted to meet up with another group of Peace Corps travelers, we did that and then took off for more adventure elsewhere.

It went something like this though… we got in, got lost (because it’s been 9 months since I have seen public transport of any kind), found ourselves in Little India, which was the coolest place ever – so full of life and energy – found some housing, took a shower, went out with the crew, played some pool and got some martinis, got home, and woke up to leave. I did meet a young fella from Colorado who reminded me of my cousin Drew (only with long blond hair and experience in hole-digging in Antarctica) who was sweet enough to buy me a drink and give Dan some much needed bro-time… The other Malaysia crew from Peace Corps was 3 girls and Dan… add 2 more girls and he is severely outnumbered.

Days 10-14: Kuching, Sarawak, Borneo.

Fun fact: Sarawak, which is on the Borneo side of Malaysia, is the only place in Malaysia that is treated like its own county. I have a special passport stamp from it to prove it!

Kuching was by far my favorite place in Malaysia. There was something about the atmosphere of the town – the friendly people, the lack of tourists, the general ambiance of the place – that just made me fall in love. “Kuching” means “cat” in the Malay language, and just to let you know that, the town has three different cat statues, as well as an entire museum devoted to cats. The town also has a cool mix of people, with lots of Chinese, some Malays and Indians, and a ton of native tribes who have assimilated into the Kuching culture. There is a huge mix of religions around as well – we saw a Catholic Church, a Muslim Mosque, and Temples from the Buddhist, Hindu, and Sikh faiths. But it seemed to me that there was no fighting, no animosity or stigma between these different people. It was incredible!

Our first night in Kuching, we walked around the town, finding things to eat and do, getting the lay of the land and chatting with the locals. We watched the sun set on the river as several mosques played their call to evening prayer and the sounds surrounded us. On our way home, we stumbled upon a big party at one of the Chinese temples, and our curious stares drew curious stares back, and then got us an invite to join the party! We accepted, and a lovely fella walked us through the steps of prayer according to the temple, with incense lighting and kneeling, then told us about the history of the temple and the party that we were attending. Then he sat us down at a table, gave us a beer, and introduced us to the man sitting across from us… the mayor of the town! It was here that we saw the first example of mixing cultures --- James, the mayor, is Catholic, his friend was Muslim, and we were all at the Buddhist Temple party with the Chinese crowd. Plus, after our party, we stopped by McDonalds and met up with a few Africans who are studying there. We got home and watched some people play Chinese poker with narrow and colorful cards, then crashed.

The next day, we moved to a different hostel, one that was cheaper and in a better part of town. It is run by a couple of cool guys from the Iban tribe – with a few friends involved. I had so much fun I never wanted to leave… and we didn’t really. We went on a few quests for food (mainly McDonalds or pizza or ice cream) and to a night market (which is just like the Cambodian markets except in the evening and with more unusual fare) and for some shopping and town exploration, but mainly, we had fun with the guys in the hostel. There was quite a crowd there – a cool French lady doing her thing, a brother and sister from mainland Malaysia, another brother/sister pair from Britain, a guy from Australia, and a couple from the Netherlands. All those people, along with the locals, made for a few interesting evenings… One night the local masseuse came around and fixed up my back (After he rubbed my arm for a minute he told me, “There’s something wrong with your stomach; it doesn’t feel good,” and I said, “Wow! How did you know that?). Another night, we watched Stephen King’s “It” and scared ourselves to death. Another evening gave me a fake tattoo on my shoulder – a traditional Iban tattoo of a stylized hornbill for protection – which I want to make permanent.

And… we saw Orang-utans!!!!!!!

Fun fact: The word, “Orang utans,” means “people of the jungle” in Malay.

So we went on a grand excursion to see these cool people. It took a few tries – we had trouble waking up a few mornings, and also we had no clue where we were headed, so it was a little more difficult than we imagined. But then we found the van to take us, for only a few dollars, all the way to the Sanctuary and back, and we found ourselves in this cool place! We also met a neat Aussie lady who had been everywhere and a Finnish couple (I’ve never met a Finlandian before!) We had to walk down a bit of a path, to a little viewing area where they had set some food out, and then we saw them… There was a mom with a little toddler, who amused himself by swinging about with little limbs, another mom with a newborn baby, and a few more animals of different sizes and personalities. They were so amazing! I was so awed by them and how free they seemed, how similar to us they are. I loved it!

We left the next day, with “heavy feet,” as our famous tattoo artist said… (Check out National Geographic Taboo: Tattoos to see the Iban guy we met)… and ended up back in KL for one last McDonalds adventure. We also met a German gal flying solo, a very sweet Swedish family, and a traveling American guy whose leftover soda we took (The airport has expensive things). We also, oddly, met up with an American couple whose roots are in south Cambodia in the nursing field – I say odd because they took the same flight from Phnom Penh to KL as we did and the same flight from KL to Phnom Penh as we did… and we saw them both times!

Phnom Penh was busy, and flooded, and it made me sad for a few minutes, until I realized that I did actually miss some things about this country. I sure missed my host family…

Here are a few updates from ‘the Land of Smiles,’ or whatever the Tourism industry calls this little corner of the world…

--Even though it is the hot and dry season, it has been raining about once a week for some time, and the heat is not as unbearable as I thought it would be. I think that Iowa life has conditioned me for anything and everything… Although I’m dreading coming back to the state at the beginning of winter after almost 3 years of no temperatures under 70.

--The family has a jasmine bush that has just flowered recently, right underneath my window (which is open at all times). So, last night when it was raining, the scent wafted through to me and made my room smell like my favorite Jasmine tea.

--There is a baby of about 6 months who is a cousin and comes over to visit my grandmother fairly frequently, and yesterday was no exception. I came downstairs to visit and see little Maleka, who immediately opened her arms to come to me and wouldn’t let go. She didn’t go to her aunt who watches her all the time, or to my grandmother, or to my host mom, or my little brother, or either of my sisters. My family was quite surprised and I was tickled… She only let go for her mother.

--There are more school holidays than I could ever keep track of. The entire month of February for 5 days of testing, next week for more testing, the entire month of April for Khmer New Year, a full week in May for the King’s Birthday, parts of June for testing, and all of July for the same. Not to mention the several “I just don’t feel like it” days that students and teachers alike enjoy taking.

--I have made friends with a considerable amount of monks at the somewhat distant pagoda of Rolum Chrey, and now whenever I go there, the head monk invites me up to his balcony and we drink water or Coke and eat apples and talk about stuff.

--Somehow, someway, both the AC and closed rooms with fans stirring up dust have been making me ill. See the above fear of returning to Iowa…

--I have lost all manners and social graces that I have once had. There are many examples of this…

-We sit on the table and all eat from communal dishes that we spoon into our own bowl of rice, so sometimes between the communal plate and my plate food falls to the table… but then I eat it anyway.

-I bathe in a huge water room with the shower and the toilet and a big tub of water all in the same place. The whole thing is tiled, and I can splash water wherever I please and spit out toothpaste and shampoo my hair and just wash it all into the ditch.

-We recently met the American Ambassador to Cambodia while we were in Phnom Penh, and while exchanging pleasantries, decided to talk about how beautiful the bathrooms were in the Embassy (it’s true, they are, and the whole thing is a slice right out of America).

-Peace Corps Volunteers are very close with each other, and our position here in this odd country makes us more aware of the things our body can handle, and we often compare these things. So, it stands to reason that I have had more conversations about constipation, sex, diarrhea, insect-related diseases, skin issues, weight, periods and other girl-troubles, and any number of other related topics than I ever had before. We also talk about food… all the time. Though we have found that we PCVs have developed relationships in our meager 8 months here that it would have taken years to cultivate in the States… seemingly because we are more true to ourselves; take away your normal clothes, your car, your college or other lifestyle, anything else that you define as yourself, and what you have is us.

-- What’s coming up…

-This weekend: A St. Patty’s Day party with the VSOs (which will include real Irish food and real Irish people)

-Beginning of next week: A friend from Simpson who is staying in Thailand is coming to visit for a few days, and we will go to see the temples in Siem Riep!

-Next Month: I am going to both Peninsular Malaysia and Borneo in hopes of finding the “wild women” who I was always compared to as a child and young adult. I will be searching for a woman with wildly crazy and curly hair like my own and see if we can take a group photo.

-May: I want to go and see the rest of the Thailand group before they go back to good ole Iowa, so I think I’ll spend the King’s Birthday on that.

-Mid-July: Myself, Deidre, and Whitney are planning a girl’s camp that will bring some of our girls into the city and introduce them to educational and career opportunities!

-Late Summer: I am trying to find a way to work in the arts with a local NGO. Also, I’m excited to meet all the families and friends that are coming up – Deidre’s twin and friends, Whitney’s brother and folks, Anthony’s girlfriend and family, and maybe some more…

A little video of some students playing with the Cambodian version of Hackey Sack. Fun fact: They have never heard of baseball, despite the resemblance. If I try to explain it, they are lost...

Here is a link to two of my recent albums on Facebook - Enjoy!

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2020373&id=72901581&l=07e15

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2020692&id=72901581&l=a1cdd

I just realized how long it has been since I have written a blog; almost simultaneously, I realized that I have a pretty good story to tell about the Khmer language.

When we were in Phnom Penh for the longest week of training and city life I have ever had (I think that I must be a country gal at heart), I met up with a few people who were touring about the country in a local guesthouse lounge. There were a selection of Israelis, one of which taught me a few useful words in Hebrew (Hebrew!) and a couple of Austrian girls, all of whom were speaking English in various accents and abilities, a very interesting experience here. Now, in this particular guesthouse, the managers have found out through a few visits that I am decent in Khmer and have decided that I am interesting because of that fact (It is a guesthouse mainly for backpackers, and I very few Khmer speakers find their way through, with the exception of the local PCVs).

So I was here, sitting in the lounge, chatting with the other foreigners and telling them about some local flavors and places to go, when one particular manager (His name is Allah, though some American guy decided he looked more like a Spencer, so he began to call himself that) began to talk about me to the other men in the room. I heard him, turned around, and began talking to the men in Khmer, a feat which has gotten easier through each bit of practice. I can talk about the basics of my life (name, family, age, organization, etc) with ease. It’s only when things get more complicated (politics, Americana, and any number of random subjects) that I begin to have trouble. I also have difficulty when it comes to unusual vocabulary or accents and when it comes to people with few teeth. So… yesterday, when I was in a taxi going home and it had been discovered that I speak Khmer (surely, as one woman said!), and the two-toothed, one-legged man in the back began to talk about Obama and his dark skin and American influence, I was a little bit lost.

Either way, I have gone from, “She listens not enough,” to, “she speaks Khmer surely,” so life is good. And as I spoke to the men in the guesthouse, and then explained to the foreigners what I had said, they pointed out to me how silly Khmer really is. I confess I do find it a bit strange, this language I’ve learned, and after the German-English and Hebrew (Hebrew!)- English speakers pointed out more, well, I thought I could share a few eccentricities of the language.

1. There are no verb tenses. There is one word for eat, for sleep, for walk, run, sit, stand, go… you name it. I can put a word in front of the verb to signify past, present, or future, but generally, they just live in the moment and use whatever verb needs used for that exact time and place.

2. There are no plurals. I can’t put an ‘s’ on the end of a words to make it known that there is more than one of that thing. I fact, I would just say the same thing twice. There is more than one girl… She she is going to the market. There is more than one student… He he is studying. There is more than one cat… It it is hungry. There is quite a nice ring to that, though, at times.

3. From above… the word for ‘he’ and the word for ‘she,’ though not the word for ‘it’ (see the next point) are the same word.

4. There are a number of words that change depending on who you are in the culture. It is a society of levels, so kids and animals, teens/adults, grandparents or old folk, monks, and the king all have different versions of say ‘eat,’ or ‘sleep.’ The monks and I do not eat the same. The king sleeps different than everyone. The animals die differently than people, and so on and so forth.

5. I almost never hear anyone use names. The most common thing I hear is the word ‘bong,’ literally – older someone. Or, for kids, you say ‘own,’ or younger someone. Or, for any woman with gray hair you say, ‘yiey,’ or grandma, whether or not they have grandchildren or not. This practice does get dicey sometimes, though. Since people call each other by these few simple words (you can also include aunt and uncle into this equation), usually replacing the subject of the sentence with said words, I am surprised that there is not more confusion. Take this scenario, which I have seen happen more than once in front of me… The old women, most of whom are homemakers and run the house and its finances, are the people who usually take part in any kind of funeral or wedding or Buddhist ceremony as a large group. The young people don’t have the patience to sit through a long and hot Buddhist chant, but somehow the grandmothers all manage as a group to enjoy the long time in their white blouses and kroma scarves wrapped around their body like the pageant princesses wear their sashes. Now imagine a room full of old women, some of them with their heads shaved in the Buddhist style, all of them tan and worn from long years in the tropical heat and through decades of a difficult life. They are all sitting and chatting together, waiting for the monks to appear and bless whatever needs blessed that day.

And they all call each other… ‘yiey.’ With 30-some women, all of them answering to the word ‘yiey’ from their own families and friends, all of them calling each other the same, all of them knowing precisely which yiey is being called to by any other yiey at any given time. Names are irrelevant, forgotten through years of being ‘mom’ and years more of being the mom of a mom. It is incredible…

But on with Khmer…

6. The language, generally, is very simple. There are no articles, no plurals, not a lot of distinctions for particular people, and not a remarkable amount of rules. So I find myself speaking very simply in this language. Here are some examples, translated as best as I can into English phrases…

“Doe na?” Go (question)? Where are you going?

“Nyam Bai howie no?” Eat rice already not? Have you eaten yet?

“Kang no ai na?” Bike where (question)? Where is my bicycle?

“Mok bi na?” From (question)? Where are you from?/

Where’ve you been?/ What country are you from?

“Ay-u pun man chnam?” Age how many year? How old are you?

“Knyom ay-u mapei chnam.”I age 20 year. I’m 20 years old.

“Me-an tourisap awt?” Have phone no? Do you have a phone?

“Sa-at na!” Pretty a lot! Cute, handsome, pretty,

gorgeous, or lovely.

Needless to say, Khmer is an interesting language that I enjoy immensely… and it is getting easier, enough that when I say I have only been here for 6 months or so, most people look at me in complete shock wondering how on earth I have learned this much this fast. And then, somehow, the conversation (usually) turns into a conversation about how I’ve learned (I live with Khmer people, I need to know the language), (Yes, I study the language), (No, I do not want a Khmer husband so that I can learn more)…

2-5-09

Sometimes the stars fall into alignment in just such a way as to aid me in having more than too much fun with my students here. I had one of those days recently.

My favorite game to play with my students is called ‘Slap the Board.’ It does have educational value, there is vocabulary, listening, friendly competition, teamwork, and the all-important fun factor which, for me, is the main component of language learning. I say this because I still remember with a very clear picture sitting in a coffee shop with my Khmer teacher and my peers in training, learning about comparatives and superlatives by talking trash to each other in Khmer. Fun. Educational. Set into my brain.

In ‘Slap the Board,’ there is a nice selection of words written onto the chalkboard and one student from each team standing with their backs to the board, until, of course, I call out one of the words and they turn and frantically search until one of them hits it and a point is awarded to the team. Sounds great, you say? It is! There is usually massive participation from all of the students in the class, as they yell “above,” “below,” and point frantically while the students touch various words in hopes that they are touching the correct one. It is loud and boisterous, and I am sure you are wondering why I cannot play it all the time.

There are actually several reasons that the game is virtually unplayable. The most conducive environment to play it in is in my 10A/10B classes – I join the two classes and the seats are bursting with students, but the classroom is cement and relatively sound proof, especially since there is an empty classroom in between us gamers and the actually studying 11G class. However, in the rest of my 10th grade classes, star alignment must take place. Every other classroom is made of wood and instead of the walls in between classes going all the way up to the roof, they instead only go about halfway, leaving a large sound traveling gap between all three of the classes in any given building. Teaching in the middle classroom is usually a battle of the voices for that given reason. Imagine a huge game distracting two extra classes instead of just the one you are intending to! Plus, it is my opinion that the more the merrier, so I like to put two classes together to lighten spirits and let them see some new faces.

Life was good to me this day. 10C, my favorite class of all, was having a ‘break,’ which means that their teacher didn’t show up, 10D was who we were to teach, and 10E had gone home for lack of teachers/energy/class (take your pick of any the excuses). It was perfect, so I somehow got some of the 10C’ers into the 10D class, wrote up my words, and let the games begin. Sometimes I choose sides of the class as teams, or the different classes as the teams, but this time I decided on a battle of the sexes, in honor of the upcoming V day, of course.

And on we played, a very close game of girls versus guys aided a bit by my theories on who should win and if I can aid that at all. Sometimes I choose mis-matched pairs, or try to help out the girls a bit based on where she is looking. It is my opinion that the women here need a little self-esteem, beginning with grade 10 board-slapping. And so, through careful work on a tie-breaker at the last minute of the game, the women won and the boys were crushed. And so we asked, “Ladies, as the winning team, what would you like the losing team to do?” The answer was almost unanimous. “Sing!”

And so the campaign was on. The boys, unused to their position as losers and unwilling to sing, refused all of the wild attempts I made to get them to sing. My favorite kids, like Hin, a boy with high cheekbones and a sweet disposition who’s had a scrape on his face all week from a moto fall, Sophy, a boy still growing into his body as awkwardly as he can but making up for it with pure charm that only a 10th grader can have, Poin, the troublemaker who will skip my class right in front of me – walking in front of the window as if I am blind of have somehow forgotten that he is in the class, and the rest of the entertaining class, all refused to get up, saying that they can’t, they can’t! The bell rang, signifying the end of the hour, and I saw my fun day draining as the boys’ refusal left a dull taste in the air.

But then…As head of the class, Sophy had to get up to deliver the attendance book to the teacher desk, where my co-teacher was impatiently watching my antics. As he began to return to his seat, I rushed over to his seat, splaying out my arms to prevent him from sitting down, leaving him standing in front of his mates. He grudgingly accepted the victory and managed with a few words what I had been unable to – he got the entire male population of the class to stand up and stand behind him

The girls were loving it, especially as he and another student (supposedly, the one who is actually good at singing) began their rendition of my favorite song in current circulation: Pram Bouan Dola - $5000. It is a song about a man who loves a woman and in order to pay her dowry sells off everything he owns – his moto, his tractor, his house – but it still isn’t enough, and he withdraws into sadness and depression at his lost love. Granted, not the best lyrics or message, but a pretty catchy tune, with a emotion tortured voice that wails his pain to the world.

They sang, Hin danced, they all watched me (I dance and act excitable about just about everything) and the girls ate up their victory. It was a pretty excellent and star-aligned day…

1-29-09

It has officially been six months in country, and we PCVs could think of no better way to celebrate than to go to the Vegas of Cambodia (as one Aussie Volunteer described it) for a long Chinese New Year weekend. We also needed to celebrate the new inauguration of Mr. Barack Obama, and boy did we.

I made my way to the provincial town a bit early and went to see a model school that one of my American buddies teaches at. If there were a school more opposite than mine, then I have found it in that little place near my friend Dan in the Monkol Borei district south of our provincial town. The students, at ages ranging from 11-19 and all in grade 6, speak more English than the Grade 11 English teacher at my own school. They are clever, incredibly willing to participate, fearless, and generally amazing. Cory, their teacher, gets 4 hours per day with the same students, a fact which I am still unable to comprehend – I am lucky if I get four hours a week with any single student, and even in Khmer class we never had that much time. And so, this variety of students from poor houses in the district, whose only way beyond a life of farming or fishing or selling is their English, who appreciate their education with their entire soul, study and work for more. It is beyond words for me, and they have developed a close relationship with Cory, one that I am only at the beginning of with my students. Their school is the ideal for which all the PCVs are striving to create in a system that refuses it.

After that incredible day, with a very cool and goofy guy named Cory, as well as with a well-fed visit to Dan’s family, the three of us caught the student bus up to the big city, where we enjoyed some fine Khmer food and rest in our friends’ huge house, a massive concrete and tile masterpiece which used to be a guest house and has three levels filled with steep stairs in between.

And then, Siem Riep. It was me, Dan, and Anthony, taking our own taxi and picking up Deidre and Whitney along the way. It’s a long ride on a bad road, unpaved and rocky, busy with construction workers and trucks destroying their work. But then, somewhere on the way, the road becomes perfect, the houses begin to fade away, and you begin to see big hotels, Western restaurants, billboards, clean streets, foreigners, beauty unusual to the country that I know. We went to the guest house that was recommended to us, all while gazing out the windows in some uncertain amazement about where we are and what happened to the country that we were in.

After we checked in to the very normal guest house, we found (of all things!) Indian food, which was delicious and easily devoured. And then, some shopping, where I found a cute little dress that looks quite good on my newly acquired figure and where Deidre and Whit found similarly cute shirts that suit them very well. We got set for dinner and found ourselves walking into an arts and crafts fair, straight out of the pages of Western society. The girls had a glass of white wine and enjoyed the cool summer night (in January…) while the boys walked aimlessly around the stalls and played with the children who were hanging about the crowd. We wandered into the main part of town for some dinner, at the Paper Tiger, delicious as always.

In Siem Riep the set up is very interesting, with a main pub street and adjacent alley, full of cute or kitchy restaurants of all cuisines. There are markets for foreigners, packed with expensive silks and cheap clothes that the average Khmer person would not touch. There are statues and reliefs and pictures and anything that a tourist could want. There are peddlers that work their area of the city – including one boy who we saw on a few occasions, a boy with lots of English and wit to match. In fact, this boy, on the second night we saw him, asked me if I had a boyfriend, and I said no, and he said, “That’s because you don’t buy my book. If you buy my book, you will get a boyfriend.” It was an interesting comment for a 12-something boy to tell a perfect stranger, but his humor alone gave us the urge to buy what he was selling. He also called us out for saying that we have read books we haven’t, which I have to appreciate.

On day 2, there was a pleasant breakfast at a proceeds-to-charity restaurant, a nice relaxing café that one of the K1s used to help out with, a swim at a local bar/pool, and Mexican food with $1 Margaritas. Life is good in Siem Riep.

Day 3 had more food, pizza!, more fun at the bars, a visit to the supermarket (a real, live, HyVee at my fingertips, with packaged meat and dairy products), a phone call from mom and grandma, great times, great chats, great meetings with people that we haven’t seen for ages, and a generally pleasant time. A very good vacation, where we fit in, where we weren’t stared at, where English is one language of many, where we were the people watchers instead of the people watched, where we were back home for 3 days. But yet, we had the added advantage of knowing the language and knowing the ropes a bit more. It was quite lovely, though quite expensive, and the 5 bucks I got in the mail the day before we left didn’t last more than about an hour…

“Sister, sister, get up!” I finished tying up my mosquito net and reluctantly folded my blankets to set them at the foot of my bed. The wind was shaking the house and I pulled a jacket on over my long sleeve shirt because I was shivering in the grey light of dawn. I unlatched my door and pushed the double doors open to find my younger sister Rosa sitting on the porch, make-up boxes in front of her as she carefully applied eye shadow to her almond eyes. She flashed me a quick smile and I stepped down the wooden stairs, feeling more and more chilled from the surprisingly icy wind as I brushed my teeth and splashed water onto my face in the bathroom.

We were in a bit of a hurry – in less than a half hour, all of my young female family members, and even the handsome 25-year-old cousin I call George and the younger 14-year-old cousin Kdompy who adores his every move, would be lined up with more fruit than any single family, no matter how extended, could ever eat. They told me yesterday that we would be carrying fruit for the wedding of an acquaintance, one of the many ceremonies wrapped up into the wedding event of the Khmer people. I could barely contain my excitement; the groom is an American returning briefly to the country, and it is always a thrill to meet someone who understands my accent and the culture that I was raised in. My other sister Lita zipped up my lacy purple shirt and I fastened my new tailored skirt and rushed out the door to find more relatives beginning to pile into a little white Camry, a typical taxi.

But today the taxi was full of family, 7 pretty women in lacy and satin and silk, 5 squeezed in the back, 2 in the front with the driver. Myself the only one in flip flops, all the rest in their highest heels which, while it made them considerably taller than normal, they still were nowhere near reaching my own 5’10” height.

The rumor was that this is basically the wedding of the year – a fact which I still cannot doubt. The bride is a young 20-year-old from one of the richest families in town. My own family is well off, with a pretty wooden house, traditionally modest with a tin roof but modern in the conveniences of generally reliable running water and electricity; we have healthy meals every day, fruit and vegetables and meats with our daily rice, and my host father brings home nice snacks when he comes back from the city on the weekends. No one goes hungry and there is usually something leftover to give to the stray animals that lurk around and look pleadingly up at our table as we eat. But this bride’s family, their wealth, stands out among the town that surrounds it.

Their house is a tall mix of concrete and shiny tile, with pale green paint and a porch with shiny pink banisters. A grey satellite dish sticks out from the otherwise polished exterior and their immense yard on the main road is usually filled with men waiting to work or huge trucks piled tall with red bags of rice. I’ve ridden past it at least 4 times a day, on my way to and from school to teach, usually avoiding the stares and calls from the group of men but constantly curious about the building. I imagined that it was just a stopping point for the rice, that the building had an office in it, never realizing the wealth that lay in the property and the family that owns it, in the business of rice distribution for a district and province known just for its proximity to Thailand and its production of the staple food of the country.

Today we were dropped in the middle of that lot, though today there were no dust-covered trucks, no men in grubby clothes, and little space; a huge bright wedding tent filled with flowers and chairs covered in mock-silk transformed the usually bare space into a banquet hall, a chapel, a shrine to love and family. The huge doors of the house were open to reveal the living room which was covered with wedding paraphernalia: flowers and squares of bright fabric with fancy Khmer script noting the special day, painted landscape backdrops and umbrella lights for photos, the many plates of fruit and food wrapped up with bows and saran wrap lined neatly on the floor. To one side, members of the band dressing in their shiny white jackets, to another, the crew working on perfecting the wedding decorations and setting up the sound equipment for the presentation. The other half of the lot was filled with cars, some familiar taxis, others recognizably important. Even the spirit house, a miniature palace on a stand, was decorated with bright flowery wreaths and extra offerings of food and drink for luck.

I searched the crowd and saw faces I recognized: some of my students from various grades, some important people I met in my first few weeks here – the police chief, an officer of the district branch of the government, the wife of an education official, a few relatives that have stopped infrequently at my house for a visit. More and more people showed up, men in dress shirts with shiny belt buckles, younger guys with their hair immobile from styling, girls in every color of the rainbow, women with satins and skirts completely mismatched to my eyes. There was a rush of color as we all piled into the house to grab a plate of fruit – like someone pushing around a bowl of skittles.

There was some commotion beyond that. I kept hearing 200 meters, 300 meters… wondering what they were talking about. Well, since the groom lives in America, we can’t follow the tradition a purely as possible, by carrying the gifts of fruit and beer and snacks from his home to hers. Instead, we all just walk some small distance away, pair up with a person of the same produce, and walk back to put the fruit where it all was in the first place. That is the ceremony. And that is what we did. Though, it was a bit grander than I had expected – the average wedding will have 60-100 plates of fruit, if you’re on a budget, 30 is acceptable. This particular wedding had 300 plates. 300. We were one long line of gifts.

Of course, there is a bit of expense wrapped up in 300 plates of fruit; this is only one part of the wedding ceremony, which means that the other ceremonies and the more important reception are completely separate expenses. For 300 plates, you first need, well, 300 plates of fruit, beer, snacks, noodles, and so on, and since it is winter, most of the good fruits will be out of season and more expensive than usual. You need decorations and bows for the plates, and you will most likely buy extra fruit so only the prettiest fruit goes on display and you will have considerable extra because you only can use an even number of plates for each fruit. Then, you will likely want to reward the people who wrap all of your fruit in said plates and sarans and bows with a meal or…anything really. And then, you will have to consider getting all of these people to your wedding, seating them for the ceremony (there is a program after the carrying), paying them a small fee for their kindness, and finally feeding them breakfast (all at once) before anything else begins. And, you’ll need the prettiest clothes to wear in front of them…

So we somehow all lined up, all 300 of us, having found out fruit buddy and somehow withstanding the still icy winds blowing our hair out of place. I realize that icy is a bit overstated, but it is like being caught in a tank top on the first cold day of fall, with no shade and a huge breeze from the north. And the band played, and we walked, and the photographer and the videographer, and the various spectators still in their sarongs and jackets took special notice of me, the girl with white skin who happened to be towering above the heads of every girl around her (the boys walk in the back for the most part, because they aren’t as pretty in their normal clothes as we are in our spectacularly colored, beaded, appliquéd, flowery, excessive, decorated ones).

And we went back to the big house – the groom with his groomsmen carrying his shade umbrella and some pretty matching girls carrying some flowers leading the parade on the main road, which is to say, the only road that doesn’t dead end in a village or rice paddy, And through the traffic, we delivered the groom’s offering to the bride’s family.

So we sat in rows and rows of chairs to watch the ceremony: the wedding singer dancing up the aisle with a pretty lady by his side, the Khmer equivalents of the flower girl and ring bearer in front of them, collecting bits of fruit in a basket along the way so that when they reach the end they will have something to eat together and taste as a sort of prelude to the adult festivities. The boy asks the girl what she would like to eat, and she chooses, and with both sets of hands somehow holding the fruit she bites, and he asks, “Is it sweet?” And she says, “Yes, it’s sweet.” She does the same for him, and a song is sung.

The groom does the same walk, giving some symbolic thing to the parents and assembled family members who are seated at the end of the line. The bride makes her appearance, led by an older female family member (a position which may have been offered to me for my sister’s future wedding), her bridesmaids trailing behind her. The bride and groom go up and down the aisles, led by photographers and videographers and the emcee who are all giving instructions and worrying about the placement of the frill on the umbrellas.

There was lots of chaos with all of the cameramen, which in this wedding was a bit exacerbated with the groom who is American in many definitions of the word. My family tells me that his Khmer (we never had the opportunity to speak with one another) is at the same level as mine, which is to say that deep conversations about thoughts and feelings won’t be first on the topic list, and that the bride’s English is… well. The emcee even made a joke about it while someone was trying to get him to turn his head just so; “Say it in English, maybe he’ll understand…”

I was the only one who laughed out loud. Which, then, put the attention on me – and the emcee began talking about the groom’s ‘fellow American’ who looked so lovely in the traditional Khmer shirt and skirt.

When it was all over we put the food back where we found it and went out to the tables at the side of the house. They were under tents, but given the wind still blowing cold, we moved them out into the sunshine to enjoy the rice porridge with bean sprouts and beverages. Our table had Coke and Fanta, though I saw some all-men tables with whisky and beer – I couldn’t think of a reason not to drink at 8:30 either.

And that was it…we piled back into the taxi and went home, various stolen drinks and fruits in our hands, and enjoyed the rest of the Saturday.

Side note: despite not eating the seafood in the rice porridge, I still got terribly sick from something that I ate that morning, with a bacterial infection or amoebas or something, and it was not fun. But, fear not! All better!!

Today a very bad fire broke out in a little shop near the new market. It was a shop that I have never been inside, though one that I have ridden past several times; it is close to both the phone shop that I like and the place with the best coffee in town (which I have heard from 3 classes of students and learned through a bit of personal exploration). I know very little about the fire, though the rumors are that no one was hurt, even though that wasn’t the first piece of information ever volunteered for me, that it was caused through some faulty wiring, which doesn’t surprise me, and that there was somewhere in the neighborhood of $30,000 of damage done to the property and the goods inside. Pretty incredible given I cannot even imagine that much money in one building. I also know that one of my students either lost her home or her family’s livelihood or both today.

I know what you’re thinking…happy day story? Well, I went to look at the remains of the building at about 5:00, I saw a few things. In true Khmer fashion…when I went, after the fire had been put out by a fire truck – a real fire truck – there was a crowd outside the building like a carnival was in town. I barely stood out in the crowd. But there were a few children that noticed me. I recognized one of the kids from a few of the weddings that I’ve been to – he is a cute and always dirty little boy with a mop of ashy brown hair and a bright white smile that stands out with his dark skin – and he hangs around parties to collect cans (and therefore, cash) and grab some leftovers after the party guests depart.

He and a little posse stood in front of my parked bike while I assessed the damage and the chaos and they stared me down until I began to make some conversation with them. I said hello and they smiled. I said hello in Khmer and they giggled a bit. I asked for one child’s name and the others told me…none of them answered with their own name, just another’s. I asked what they had and in his young voice he asked me to repeat myself. Baat? (Yes for boys).

He had acquired a string of rubber bands woven together and was wearing it as a necklace that looped twice around him and fell to his belly button on both rings. I saw him later playing jump rope with the thing – and the string went over a foot over his head at its peak in the air.

Another couple of kids came, some older than his (perhaps) 6 years, some younger. A few younger girls were trying to carry a tiny little furball of a puppy and passing him around, dropping him once in the process, but generally taking good care of his very still body that seemed about the size of their torsos. Another kid looked like he had just eaten a chocolate ice cream cone (unlikely) and the evidence was all over his chin. I asked more names, they other kids filled me in, and I heard one of them tell another to ask my name, obviously shy or nervous or both at the Khmer-speaking-barang-girl in front of them. I told them my Khmer name, Bopha (the flower of poetry), and as they giggled and repeated my answer I heard one boy say neakroo, teacher.

I didn’t immediately recognize this particular boy, but he spoke more, saying, she is a teacher, she came to the primary school. The boy was there when I went to visit the kindergarteners with their teacher, my friend. I was more than shocked that this boy could remember such a thing after so much time has passed, but also so happy that I made some impression on a single child in the town. I hope to influence more as my time passes here…it is easy as you settle into life here to forget that you may make a difference with just a few hours of your time, that sometimes the things that you forget someone will remember for days or weeks or years to come, that it may influence the life that they choose to lead.

*Bonus info: My friend the kindergarten teacher got married just a few days ago to a very sweet and tall boy from Siem Riep, and he was very thrilled to speak a little English with me. The wedding was a food and music-filled festival, as usual, with a lot of my teacher friends in various stages of sobriety or lack thereof, which led me to reflect on this strange piece of the culture that prefers daytime drunkenness to the evening party scene.

Plus…please note the photo – I feel like a giant in the thinnest flip flops I own. And to think they would prefer me in a heel.

Happy New Year!!!

I am happy to say that I reigned in the new year by partying hard until past midnight (quite a feat these days) with a whole crew of Volunteers from around the Banteay Meanchay province. There were Americans, Brits, Aussies, Dutch folk, some Germans, and a gal from Andorra, which is, despite some intense discussion, really a country. Promise. We had some lovely pasta, some great desserts, and a lot of music that reminded me a bit of an American wedding reception - until it switched to Khmer wedding music - and then some ABBA, so it was a good day.

So with that, I wish all the best to you this year, and I hope that 2009 is the year for all good things (like a healing of the American economy) to happen!

Note the rain, the mud, the awesome altar, and enjoy my new house!

9.10.2008

It rains more here. I say this because it has rained at least 5 times in 3 days, and every time it rains, the roads get more muddy than I ever would have thought possible. And the behavior is a bit different than in my training village…In the other district they batten down the hatches and hide inside until the rain stops. They take down the hammock, feed the ducks, close every window, and refuse to exit the house. Here, however, my brother lost his shirt and pants and showered in the downpour from the roof, closely followed by the young boy from next door (who I love because he picked me a ton of this strange looking orange fruit from my house) who also lost his clothes. George (not his real name, only the closest American name to it), the same guy who serenades the family, began hauling water in the downpour to fill some of the basins near the house. They washed out the bathroom, washed the bike, and took rain showers as they giggled and slid around in the multicolored mud around the house.

Rain also makes the roads entertaining. This morning I took a taxi to go the 50-60 kilometers to the provincial town, Sisophon, and, since it rained the night before, the roads were awful. We sank into mud puddles, stopped for a caravan of important people in a 15 vehicle Land Rover caravan, and fishtailed more than if we were on a snowy road in the middle of an Iowa winter. It was like ice that captured everyone, no matter their vehicle. But, my giggling seemed to make everyone in the car happier and the driver was a nice guy. Oh yeah, and we made it safely.

In the provincial town we have discovered the following things: wooden furniture, school supplies, cakes and party hats, large markets, and delicious American style food, including onion rings with sweet chili sauce, and streets that flood in the rain. We scampered from the scary police-like man who was guarding what we thought was the tourism office and walked more than a few miles for some pricey Khmer food that we ate near an empty stage a few guys who were begging for English lessons. We met an Australian volunteer who works for a food NGO and seemed to think it was strange that we lived in rural Cambodia (because he spends all of his time in Siem Riep, his own local Vegas, and in Phnom Penh…we wonder about his Khmer after the long 2 years he has been here). And generally, wonderfully, liked this city.

9.8.2008

I am so lucky. The more I spoke with my counterpart, the more I got a little frustrated by the miscommunication caused by my unfamiliar accent and a little more excited at the prospect of being in my site. It was a bit of a trip – from Kampong Chhnang to Battambong, a 3 and a half hour bus ride, then another hour and change to Sisophon, and another hour and a half to my village by car taxi on the bumpiest road I have ever been on. This is not an exaggeration. The rain destroys the rods here and the cars that ride on them only perpetuate the problem. There were some promising places along the way though, that I am considering a long bike ride to, but generally I will need a taxi to get anywhere near the provincial town, at least until I can ride 50 K without much trouble (especially considering the size of the potholes on this road…if Bussey’s potholes are a pond, these are Lake Superior).

But now for the fun part. I must admit that I was a bit worried once we began dropping off my friends…first the tall guy that plays cribbage with me and who we poke fun of because it is above the age of 27…then the guy that hails from Chitown and wears big shades that make him look like he is a movie star (that can’t grow facial hair) and then finally I split with my friend who is the only other semi-rural lady in the province, the gal that laughs with me about just about anything. It was a little more worrisome when my teacher and I (alone, mind you, at the outskirts of the town) stopped to eat some lunch at a spot that I would never go into by myself – a place filled to the brim with semi-scruffy men of all ages watching kickboxing to strange testosterone music. But, no problem, a coke and some noodles and we were out by the road waiting for the driver to come back; and we had the always fun, “ask about the white girl” game, which I always enjoy interrupting with sentences in Khmer that make the men who were intently staring at me smile so broad. For this game, it was a compliment on one of the men’s straw hat, because I have the same hat in another color.

Throughout the anxious and yet massively entertaining (there was a child in the backseat that I played with for a good solid half hour) taxi ride to my town, I listened to my counterpart talk about the town and how close things are, how happy he hopes I will be, and so on, and then we finally arrived. We drove straight through to the market, because it is both the home of the taxi driver and the home of Mr. Sothy, so he lugged my things through a muddy alley, stepping on the far sides and some strategically placed planks to get to a little house with a young boy and some older girls, a classroom across the way and a nice hammock right on the porch. I sat (because if you are a guest…) and talked and looked at the baby in the awkward silence that has come to define a majority of my Khmer conversations.

It was a long walk to my own house, and it felt more like forever because of the heat, the awkward silence, the heat, and the sheer anticipation of my new home. But alas, we made it, and I was greeted by my new family. Let me preface this next statement with a bit of a misnomer: If a Khmer person says that their friend, son, daughter, uncle, cousin, or aunt speaks English, chances are their perception is relative and probably incorrect. Even if they do speak English, it is a very little amount, a word here or there, maybe a sentence, but understanding me as a native speaker is difficult and translation is weak at best. So, I had heard from my co-teacher that my new father spoke the language and I was a little bit skeptical. But then, what a surprise! He is more than fluent and translates for a Human Rights agency in the country. He speaks like a native and shows only a hint of the accent that colors most of the English that I hear. My oldest sister also speaks a considerable amount, though I do need to speak much slower and clearer. I am ecstatic! And so surprised! My 2 sisters are gorgeous, and my brother too is so adorable. My mother seems a little shy, but makes the pretty wedding outfits that I was shown in earlier, and also seems to enjoy my meager attempts at her language. And, grandma is super cool as well, a typical grandma that smiles at me and chews leaves filled with some red stuff that she spits wherever is her whim.

The house is a nice size, my bedroom the front room right next to a fair sized veranda with a wooden recliner and room for a hammock. There is a big room with a TV from which the other rooms stem from, and a comfortable set of stairs below. The shady area underneath has a big wooden table and a kitchen twice the size of mine in the training village. Plus…and this made me so excited…a sit down toilet and running water!!!! Not a necessity, but (as a certain PC manual says…) an advantage. Indeed. I have coconut trees, pomegranates, chickens, a cat, and a black bird that speaks Khmer!

It gets better. Not only does the director of the school live right next door, but I am also related to him – some sister of my mom is his wife. He came over and spoke with me, told me that I would be protected from the gangsters and wholly welcomed into the school, and life is good. I sat and had some delicious rice with a carrot/onion/garlic fry and strung up my pink and flowered mosquito net above my king size and equally flowery bedspread as I glanced at the pictures of roses on the wall. They knew I would be a girl. (A word about this picture...they put empty duck eggs on the plant for decoration...)

Something entertaining happened that first night, though. Since I know my name is tough for Khmer speakers, I asked them if they wanted a nickname for me because it would be easier. They thought for a few minutes and came up with the word, bo paa, flower (or rose), and I sat back in amazement. It turns out, that in all the words in the Khmer language, they picked the exact same one that my family back in my training village uses as well. I figure if that isn’t a sign that the name fits…

My town.

In the middle of the night, it rained, and the sound resonated through the tin roof and into my consciousness in some strange and uniquely Cambodian way. When I woke up, stretched and turned about on my silky sheets, I glanced out the window and saw that I shouldn’t like the rain as much. The road is basically un-travelable post-downpour. My sister skipped school and went out with me on an expedition that lasted only as long as it took us to get across the street to the breakfast shop for some truly addicting iced coffee and noodles with bean spouts and lime, a typical Khmer breakfast. We went back home hoping that the sun would dry out the road later.

It did, and after lunch, I was out with the school director’s 20 year son and friend as well as my own brother and similarly aged cousin. The son reminds me of my cousin Drew…he has the same chilled personality and they walk with the swagger that I rarely see – they even may be the same age because of the Khmer tradition of a newborn being 1 year old in April no matter what month they were born in. We walked to the local pagoda, and I saw other influences in the beautifully decorated elephant statue and in the series of men lined up at the gate of the wat. We walked over to the school, dodging water buffalos along the way, and I saw the buildings (3) still under construction, and the majority of the rest needing some construction. The buildings are old and wooden and still feature chalk boards instead of the marker boards that grace the majority of the schools now. However, the set-up is nice and the b-ball court and football field are both in fine shape. It will be a good environment, especially when students are around to liven things up.

Upon return home, my nephew’s (?) friend got me two coconuts by sliding up a palm tree like a monkey (after taking off his pants, of course) and continued acting like the high-on-life teen that he is. I biked Khmer style over to Mr. Sothy’s house and met up with the English for children class before riding around the market with my sister and being the object of all attention. And then, after dinner, I danced…life is good.

Of course, dancing is an interesting prospect. My cousin/aunt (?) comes over, usually with a few bananas, and we all file up to the living room and my younger brother puts on some Video Karaoke CDs, and we sit, and watch. Then, they tell me the name of the dance and my cousin (?), a 24 year old guy who works for some finance thing, sings and serenades in his lovely perfect pitch voice, (as he did the night before as he laid in his hammock, completely a capella, while I danced with my sister) and he gets up and shows me the dance. My favorite dance is one that I dance with him…you walk up and back, three steps, three steps, and at the stop you kick out one leg (as your partner does the same) and yours hands wave at your waist and then cross as your leg kicks. There is also the Khmer square dance, complete with a hop, and the numerous dances around a pole, a chair, or some other stationary object. I have found, though, that no matter how much I practice, I can never have the poise of a Khmer woman, the ease of beauty of their hands and how they move with such grace…

9.5.2008

Day 1: Site Announcement

The past two days have been intense! After the increasingly less interesting trip to the hub site yesterday morning, we sat through a long few sessions in anticipation of the site announcements. We waited through the morning, through lunch, and through a forever discussion of something that I can’t even remember because I was so anxious to find out about my site.

But then…the wonderful announcement. For weeks we were wondering how they would do it. Would they call our names like the Price is Right and say, “come on down!” to…(insert province here)? Would they give us some secret envelope that we would have to hold in our damp, shaking hands until they gave us the go ahead and we could tear into them as eager as kids before dawn on Christmas morning? Or, would they make it as low-key as they can and just read the names off a sheet with a monotone and brisk inflection?

It was better than all of those. They pulled out a large map of Cambodia with all of the current K1 photos in their locations and all of our photos posted around the board. The staff member who was in charge of our locations stood up and began the announcements. “In Phnom Penh…” he said in his teacher-like, lightly accented voice. Since we all know that no one is in Phnom Penh (for many obvious safety, security, and cost issues) he had a little laugh and pointed out some of the staff members who reside in our capital city. But then for the real story, he began in next province on the Tonle Sap and announced the names of all of the volunteers who would be there as they walked up to the front and moved their photos from the grey areas in Thailand, in Laos, in Vietnam, into our own country and their own province. We all clapped and cheered, and the atmosphere was jovial.

And then they called another province, to the north…Banteay Meanchay. And I heard my name with the names of 2 other volunteers from my training village and another with whom I play sports whenever the occasion arises. It is a new province to Peace Corps, so there are no K1 Volunteers there, though there are some in the nearby Battambang and Siem Riep Provinces. My actual site is north of the provincial capital of Sisophon, which makes me (by far) the northernmost Volunteer in Cambodia. I am no more than 50 K from the Thai border and close to the semi-famous temple of Bantey Chmar.

With our announcements came a small report of our village, though, for which I am grateful. And…it came with good news! There are several NGOs (Non-Government Organizations) in the area, including a mine removal center, a center that helps women and child to supplement their income, a human rights organization (that my host dad works for), and several VSOs that work in the local hospital. Including…a Kenyan (yes! Kenyan!) VSO that works with health in the area!!!! Perhaps my Africa Dreams aren’t that far away after all!

Plus, the map that I have shows my town on the cusp of a protected landscape, which I hope means that the nature will be beautiful and I will be able to find many places to bike and walk and explore throughout my service. The report notes as well that I will have some limited electricity (enough to charge my computer, my only desire), that Thai Baht is the currency of choice (though the dollar and riel are both perfectly acceptable), that my family will consist of mom, dad, sisters (18 and 15), brother (12), and grandmother, and that the town is probably about the size of my current training village. The black and white photocopy photos that I have look promising…and I’m hoping that the language that I’ve been learning from the south has some resemblance to the dialect of the far, far, far north.

Important afterthought: the K1 Volunteers gave us PB & J sandwiches with chips, salsa, Ritz, Oreos, cookies, and Apple Jacks with real milk and we were basically in heaven for the 10 minutes that it took to devour it all.

Day 2: Meeting my counterpart

With shaky butterflies in my tummy as I walked across to the venue, I wondered what he or she would be like, because throughout training, we have heard both horror and wonder stories of counterparts and co-teachers. One of the Volunteers told me that my guy was here and that I should go find him in the heavily male group of sharply dressed teachers from across the country. Fortunately, he found me before I had to look very hard, having seen my picture on the previously mentioned map. He is 39, married, three kids, and a great, enthusiastic personality. He works for the hospital in the summer, translating for the VSOs there, and his English is more than okay. I look forward to spending more time with him, especially because in his main concerns about my service, my health and my reaction to Khmer food are at the top of the list. However, I do wish that he paid little bit more attention to the important points of the sessions instead of my ability to live in Khmer culture as I have been for somewhere between 5 and 7 weeks.

8.31.2008

Important Updates:

The little girl at my house is beginning to walk and I have seen her take at least 5 steps on her own without falling hard on her bum, and she smiles at me all the time, a fact for which I am eternally grateful.

Our family is now the proud owner of 4 puppies, and I sort of watched them be born, which is slightly strange for a non-country girl such as myself.

My brother’s wife is pregnant and will be having a baby sometime in January.

I have officially lost 12 pounds so far - says 2 different scales!

I find out on Wednesday where I will be placed for the upcoming 2 years and I am so nervous and excited, and yet horribly sad to be leaving my family, who have called me adopted, and which I found out through an awesome use of Khmer. My bathroom has two very large, vrey pregnant spiders. And that is very important Info.

8.31.2008

I am, as my family would say, very sapbai, happy. I am just now home after a long ride from Phnom Penh and my Kampuchea Adventure, or, as some like to call it, the KA. Once again, Peace Corps has found a way to easily insert acronyms into everyday life. But, I will start at the beginning. Actually, before the beginning.

Last Friday, I was packed for my KA (I like to be cool so I use the acronyms too) and went to a morning language class. I went to see the bread lady who happens to make sandwiches, as usual. Note about Cambodia…since there is an abundance of people who sell the same sort of thing, such as bread, or snacks, or shampoo, or waffles, you customarily pick one person that you like and that won’t overcharge you and go there every time. This, my bread lady, sells me bread for only 500 riel, or…about 15 cents. Her sandwich is only 1000 riel, a solid quarter. One this particular day, though, there happened to be a few boys (by boy I mean 20-25 year olds) near the stand, and since they saw the hot commodity of a foreigner, they went into a different mode. It was a girl hunting mode (that I barely understand…I mean, I have lost 12 pounds, but…). So, between them, and the old man holding the baby that I ended up holding as well, and the woman who owns the shop and the baby, I was questioned and I answered…

“I’m sorry, but no, I do not have money to give to you. Not that I would give you money even if I did have it” (I wish I had the Khmer to say that last phrase, but alas)…

“No, I do not have a boyfriend, a sweetheart, or a husband.”

“No, I do not want a boyfriend, a sweetheart, or a husband.”

“No, I do not need a boyfriend, a sweetheart, or you for a husband.”

“I’m sorry…but I have to teach, so you cannot be my husband.”

It was quite an adventure, and a very pleasant way to begin the morning. I was pretty pleased that I have the Khmer vocabulary words of need, and want, and have – they’re amazingly useful, especially when talking about money and men and any combination of the aforementioned topics.

But now on to the real adventure. The Kampuchea Adventure. By the way, no one says that better, with a more entertaining smile, than that of Dara, the head of language instruction and the guy that keeps testing us on our Khmer skills.

On Friday night we headed out, 6 barangs in our own taxi towards the city. It isn’t a far ride, 40 kilos or so, and we were lucky enough to see some of our comrades from another district as we drove into the Mekong section of town. Quite a stroke of luck given the size of the town. We grabbed a few tuk-tuks and headed to the Okay Guesthouse, which I recommend to anyone planning on a vaca around here. $7 a night will get you a room with two beds and a fan, $12 for some AC, and $2 for dorm style beds in another building. They serve great fruit shakes and are well known throughout the PC community, mainly because it is a cheap place very close to the Peace Corps Office.

We were hungry, and therefore went more only one person to the city, while the other districts are averaging 2 to 6 people sent than briskly to a close American style restaurant graciously led by one of the recent ‘sickies,’ or those who are ill enough that they need to go to Phnom Penh for a few days of rest and observation by the PCMO. I am proud to say that my village has sent up. Our restaurant, Freebird (thanks Lynard) was pricey, as most expat places are, but worth every sent. We had onion rings, French fries with ketchup, and a big juicy burger with all the fixings. 2 Dr. Peppers (one was free because I was a girl and it was happy hour or something) completed the meal that we enjoyed in a private room in the back while watching the movie Dodgeball on a big flatscreen TV. Talk about surreal.

But on to day 2. My partner and I woke up fairly early, enjoyed some American-style eggs in the Okay lounge, and went over to a market to catch a taxi (by taxi I mean a large van) to head over to our site, which is known as the Ompe Phnom Resort Town. After a little confusion about where the thing actually was, we ended up on the wrong end of a long entrance road with no way but walking to get to the other side. As PCT/PCVs, we are not allowed to ride on motos, which are the primary form of transportation in any town. We walked the long road, the obvious outsiders, and eventually reached the entrance. “Welcome to Ompe Phnom Resort.” We walked past a couple of guard-looking men who just looked at us with a curious stare, and then were almost immediately accosted by something of 5 to 7 women who wanted us to come to their stands for some food and relaxation. Being the necessarily frugal PCTs that we are, we said no thanks and walked to the bridge that we saw nearby.

This may have been my scariest moment of Peace Corps. This bridge, which cost 500 riel to get on, was a frightening mix of rotting wood and wire, and I called it (cordially of course, so not to upset it) the Bridge of Death. Underneath this bridge was a raging river (because what else would be under it!), and its unsteady boards and what seemed like mile long gaps made me hold on to the less-than-sturdy and less-than-comfortable wire for support. And I of course stopped for a photo.

After defying the Bridge of Death, we reached the other side, completely clueless as to what this town had to offer. We were once again accosted, but this time by a few older ladies who sold me some incense and tried to sell some lotus buds. Luckily, a banana selling woman took us under her wing and showed us the…wait for it…elephant! I was a foot away from an elephant and I touched its rough skin as he reached out his trunk for the bananas that I was offering (and ate them, peel and all). Then…another surprise – monkeys!!!! Cute ones, that reached up and grabbed bananas from me and expertly peeled them before they enjoyed. They were everywhere and I was amazingly happy with them.

We walked up and saw the temple, and I used my incense under the guidance of the temple keepers who dress in white and just sit and sing and pray. And as we walked down to see the community portion of the village, we ran into a party. In the ‘community temple,’ which is how I look at the pagoda complex, there was some meal taking place with a handful of important local people. I say important because they were wearing the white outfits and kroma scarves that resemble the temple keepers’ outfits. We showed the proper respect to Buddha by bowing thrice to the big shrine (with incense in hand) then trying not to burn ourselves as we put the smoking sticks into a big pot of sand with other burning sticks. This group of people was happy to watch, assist, and finally enjoy, as we sat and they offered us tea and water and plaiy tiap, which I hear is called a custard apple. We sat and talked with these great people and they quizzed us on our work, our place of residence, and some other things that we may or may not have heard correctly. I think both of us were pretty amazing that we can almost communicate with people.

We took the long trek back to the main road and thought, “let’s go into the nearby Kampong Spue and look around.” Of course, we ended up going the wrong direction and looking for a guest house that didn’t exist, then accidentally (seriously) going back to Phnom Penh. We had a nice chat in the van on the way, though, with more locals who were very excited to figure out why there were foreigners in this very un-touristy place. Kampong Spue province doesn’t exist in the majority of guidebooks that I paged through in search of information about my KA. In retrospect, I’m almost certain that it is a place for locals and less directed at the somewhat booming tourist population, mainly because it is not beach, not mountains, not Phnom Penh, and not Angkor Wat. It’s off the beaten path, wherein lies its charm.

We were dropped in the middle of the central market by the impromptu driver that we hailed on the side of the road, a very surreptitious enterprise. Basically, you stand on the road, and when you see a bus and someone sticks their hand out to wave at you, they stop, and you haggle and get in. It makes things easy.

So, having been to Phnom Penh for a very limited amount of time, we have basically no clue where we are. But, we looked around and found – who knew? – a mall! A real life, I-must-be-in-America mall. 5 stories of concrete and clothing and a supermarket, of escalators and fried chicken and gelato, of shoes and jewelry and price tags, of rich folks and barangs and money, of a cinema with a scary movie showing and a roller rink and chocolate, and of my favorite thing…pizza. We sat down and had some delicious pizza-hut style pizza and it was the most delicious thing I’ve ever had (since the day before when the most delicious thing I had was onion rings and Dr. Pepper and a burger). It was so amazing. And just $4.00. I don’t know how I will return to the States with the thought that a $5.00 meal is almost ridiculously expensive.

We made our way back to the Okay and began to walk around the city, where we found the Independence Monument and a lawn full of soccer and badminton, a fountain and a park, and another supermarket which we surveyed. Peanut Butter is $6.00 for a large jar…which makes me sad considering that is about 5 meals at home or more. Certainly more, actually.

We returned back to the Okay very satisfied that evening – let’s face it: it is the simple pleasures that the Peace Corps volunteers value the most. Pizza, overhead fan, hot water…it’s a good day.

But there was even more the next day. We met some of our comrades for breakfast at another, still expensive, expat restaurant – some friends that were living the life of AC at the nearby Oasis because they were sick. I enjoyed some English Breakfast Tea, some eggs over medium and toast (with butter…!!!!) and went over to the Peace Corps Office to pick up some books and enjoy the AC of the Volunteer room. Peace Corps is good. Peace Corps gave me mail (thanks grandma!). A quick jaunt to the famous Russian Market and then a group of us headed to another market to catch our taxi back home. But not before the car stopped at a ‘sin warehouse’ (our name, not theirs) to pick up heaven knows what for later consumption. All we saw was cases of beer and playing cards, so its hard to be sure. They filled up the back seat so full that the helper of the taxi (because every small company is run by a driver and an assistant) ended up on the roof for the duration of the trip. I think that this is not uncommon given that our taxi to Ompe Phnom had a similar status.

I did learn a few things about Phnom Penh, though.

For my salary, it is beyond expensive, and I’m sure that there will be a day where I will be so tired of it that I cannot face the thought of going. For now, it is nice, a good break at this stage of my life here, amid adjustment, but home is nice.

There are a ton of foreigners in Phnom Penh, both tourists and those who reside in the area, and I have found myself looking at them with a certain look of distaste, usually because I see far too much skin and it makes me cringe a bit. I cannot explain the feeling that I have about my fellow expats, but I’m feeling a little less American and a little more Khmer, and it is a strange transition.

My new favorite pastime is talking to the Phnom Penh natives in their own tongue. Moto and tuk-tuk drivers are particularly interested in offering me a high price to get somewhere, but my level headed, “no, thank you, I don’t need it,” makes them smile and start. Given the number of foreigners in the area, many of whom do not speak any Khmer, I am not surprised that my use of a few simple words shocks them, and I enjoy it immensely. The same was true in the market, when I bought a few things after bargaining in Khmer and the ladies (supposedly) gave me a better price because I spoke the language. I bought some bracelets for my sisters and paid $6 for 5, originally charged at $2 a piece.

Phnom Penh reminds me of the dollar store, because everything seems cheap, like a buck for a bracelet, of a buck for an ice cream, or a few dollars for some pizza, but it adds up and you end up spending more money than you planned on. Way too much. And since things are in dollars instead of riel, they seem so cheap!

But, at the same time, Phnom Penh is the double edged sword that we all love and love to hate. Expensive, but full of things that switch up our rice routine and give us some Americanism for a short while. You can’t help but like it a little.