Nile Sprague Online Journal: Cambodia
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New Years 2005, Installment 1 Posted January 5, 2005 I'm now back in Phnom Penh. Last night was my second night back. I'm going through the customary confusion that greats me when I return to work after a vacation: tons of emails to write, and phone calls to make, and a variety of projects to start, but none of them clearly taking precedent. I spent my Christmas on Koh Chang island in Thailand, accompanied by my mother and three friends from my home town, Mendocino. I spent a total of eleven nights on the beach, mostly lounging about, swimming, playing frisbee, and socializing. I met some wonderful people, and enjoyed a welcome break from the computer. On the 28th of December I headed to the mainland to spend the night in Trat and catch a 6AM bus to Cambodia the following morning, accompanied by Ian and Jonah. By 12:30PM the next day, we were getting off the boat at the dock in Sihanoukville, Cambodia. We stayed in Sihanoukville for one night, enjoying a sunset swim and frisbee session until it was too dark to see the disk. The next day (New Years Eve) we went to the quiet town of Kampot where we deposited our stuff in a $3 hotel room, the cost shared between the three of us, and arranged transportation to Bokor Hill Station at the top of a great mountain in Bokor National park where a New Years Eve party would be held that evening. We rode in the back of a pick-up truck for the two-hour ride along a single lane track winding up the mountain. Most of the road had been paved long ago, and now had crumbled into an extremely bumpy mix of potholes and patches of pavement. I tried to find a comfortable position to sit as my tailbone ached from the motorbike accident I had been in a few weeks earlier. The jungle was spread around us and hung over the road. The view was stunning from the open bed of the truck. Occasionally we would get a glimpse through the trees and see the ocean and land spread out below. The jungle was thick, nearly impenetrable, even with the help of a machete. In places there were beautiful oil palms, their deep green, 25-foot fronds stretching into the air in a graceful arch. Large bunches of unripe, green oil berries hung from the top of the trees, like long strands of grapes. Many of the trees were immense old growth, their bark white, and branches spreading to create a canopy which obscured nearly all sun-light. Below was a tangle of vines, bushes, ferns, and young trees. Occasionally we would see a small, scrambley trail going up the hill-side. to be continued... Stop! Thief! Monday, February 21, 2005 Today I had my motorbike helmet stolen, almost caught the thief, and got my helmet back, all in less than thirty seconds. I was standing outside a school, talking to the receptionist at the information window, with my motorbike parked behind me and my helmet balanced on the handlebars. I looked back at the motorbike every few minutes checking on it, and suddenly I looked and my helmet was gone. I quickly stepped out of the school, and saw a young man just around the corner holding my helmet as he climbed onto the back of a motorbike with another young man driving. I yelled, "Stop, thief," and started running towards them. The driver gunned the engine and sped away as the thief dropped the helmet on the street a few feet in front of me. My heart was pounding as I picked up my helmet and walked back to the school. I immediately put a padlock and chain on my motorbike and kept the helmet with me. Chhnok Truo, Tonle Sap, Cambodia Posted Wednesday, April 13, 2005 Click here for photos of Chhnok Truo "Hello Father Kike, are you going to the Tonle Sap?" "Yes." "Can I join you?" "Of course." We discussed the arrangements: I would get a taxi to Kampong Ch'nang, then another ride to the Market in Ponley where I would meet him, and accompany him to the Tonle Sap Lake. He would be there around 4:00 PM, and the trip would take about 2 hours from Phnom Penh, so I needed to leave by 2:00 PM. Everything was settled and I was just about to hang up. I said, "See you tomorrow." "No," Father Kike replied, "It is today. I'm going today." "Your going today? But I thought you were going on the 3rd of April. Today is the second. Uh, well, okay, I guess I will see you soon." I hung up the phone, and started rushing around to get ready. It was 12:00 noon. 1:30 PM my bag was packed and I was ready to go. I got a ride with a motodop to Phnom Penh's central market. I told the driver I wanted to go to Kampong Ch'nang, and he took me straight to a taxi heading there. Before I had got off the motorbike, the driver asked if I wanted to go to Kampong Ch'nang, and within minutes we had agreed on the price, and I was seated in the front seat heading towards Kampong Ch'nang. The drive was uneventful, and passed quickly. The driver was quite agressive, tail-gating with about 2 meters of space. I tried to ignore this, as it would only distress me, and there was little I could do to prevent it. One tense moment occured when the back tire popped on a small motorbike in front of us. It was laden with four grown men, and the bike started to wobble dangerously. The driver used his feet to balance, kicking along the ground, steadied the bike, and it safely slowed to a halt. Within an hour and fifteen minutes I was at the bus stand in the quiet, dusty town of Kampong Ch'nang. From there I rode a motodop 30 km to the market at Ponley. By the time I arrived, my right leg was starting to fall asleep, and I was glad to get off the motorbike. I drank a coke over ice and waited for Father Kike at a cafe near the highway. Two very inquisitive young Khmer women asked me questions. After a few minutes, one of them asked for my telephone number. When I gave it to her, she called me immediately, perhaps to test if it I had told her the real number. After 10 minutes, Father Kike arrived in a pick-up truck filled with people accompanying him from Battambang. The truck had a large cab with two rows of seats. There were six people in the cab and nine people in the bed of the truck. I quickly finished the last of my coke, paid, and climbed into the back of the truck. I sat on the tailgate, holding onto a metal bar overhead. I was surrounded by teenage Khmer men and women coming to visit their families and attend Sunday mass. We drove for about 10 minutes along a dry dirt road. We passed a series of four large school buildings, all built on high stilts, about 10 meters off the ground, with cement stairways leading to the top. Father Kike told me that the water level would come to the base of the buildings during the rainy season. At the end of the road was Chhnok Truo, a cluster of funky shacks on the shore, scores of small wooden boats, and a large floating village. There was no dock or ramp to get out to the boats, so we had to walk in the water a few meters from shore to where it was deep enough for the boats. I only had my running shoes with me, so I walked barefoot through the mud and garbage along the waters edge. I watched the ground carefully to make sure I wasn't stepping on anything sharp, and when I got into the water, I just hoped for good luck. The boat took us through the village, along a large row of buildings and then turned left. On either side there were rows of floating houses, and more houses on the shore, and farms beyond. About 2 kilometers further we came to the floating Catholic church of Chhnok Truo. It was built of wood, with a large cross and a statue over the entrance. As we came close to the church, a man started to ring a large bell, announcing the priest's arrival. We got off the boat, and people started collecting, mostly women and children, coming to greet Father Kike. The sun was getting low, about to disappear behind a solid bank of clouds on the horizon. Father Kike started preperations for the mass that would be held that evening, and I was taken on a small boat tour, navigating along intersecting waterways lined with houseboats and floating stores. Some of the houses were floating on old metal oil drums, others lashed on top of boats, used like pontoons. Others seemed to float on bamboo. We stopped at an island, walking to the shore on thin wooden planks elevated above the water, with a bamboo railing to assist balance. After climbing a small crest I we came to a field, or perhaps a marsh, of lotus flowers. Most of them were white, tinged with pink, and tightly closed with tips pointed towards the sky. To the west, the clouds on the horizon were laced with deep red from the setting sun. It was dark by the time we returned to the floating church. The large cross over the entrance was illuminated with florescent light bulbs and people had begun to gather for mass. About 60 people came to the mass, filling the church to about one-third capacity. About half of the people were children, and there were very few men. The congregation sang hymns in Khmer language, but with the melodies of classical Catholic hymns. It was an interesting mix, such familiar style and melodies with an exotic language. At the end of the mass, Father Kike gave communion. The congregation lined up, and each in turn took a piece of the wafer and then dipped it in the wine held by an assistant on right of Father Kike. They ate the wafer, clasped their hands together in prayer, and bowed before the statue of Jesus on the cross. The statue of Jesus was a beautifully carved piece of dark brown wood, illuminated overhead by a bright, warm light. Behind it was a piece of white cloth, arranged to look like a cloak. The features of the face looked distinctly Khmer - a wide jaw, high cheek-bones, and classical Khmer eyes. The hands were held with the index and middle finger extended, and the other fingers held into the palm of the hand. A metal bolt pierced the wrist of each arm. That night I slept in the church. There were four mosquito nets with thin plastic mats on the floor. Father Kike slept in one, I in another, and the companions from Battambang shared the others, boys in one and girls in another. The evening was warm, so I stretched my blanket on the floor as padding and laid on top. I had a fretfull night of sleep. I remember laying there for long stretches of time, unable to fall into sleep. And later, being woken repeatedly by passing boats, and laying in bed trying to go back to sleep. The church was on a main thoroughfair in the village, and everytime a boat went by, it sounded like a helicopter passing 20 meters outside the window. I woke at 6:30 AM and looked around. Nearly everyone had already risen. I was still exhausted, but I gladly emerged from my mosquito net, happy that a night of such fit-full sleep had ended. Father Kike was sitting outside the church, talking on his mobile phone. His conversation continued for twenty minutes and then he came inside. In a gentle tone he said, "The Pope died last night." We sat down to breakfast with the rest of the group, and Father Kike repeated the news. It was received calmly, and we began eating. I drank Nescafe and ate bread with peanut butter and jam for breakfast, and then I was given another tour of the village, this time with the crisp, silver light of early morning. By 8:30 I was back at the floating church and boarding a boat with Father Kike and his group, ready to leave for Kampong Ch'nang. The boat took us to the shore where Father Kike's car was waiting, and then we went to Battambang. When I got to the taxi stand, I had tremendous luck again, and within minutes I was in the front seat of a taxi, headed for Phnom Penh. It was mid-day, the car didn't have airconditioning, and it was hot. The sun baked down on me through the windshield. I opened the window to be cooled by the wind, but the way the window was designed, no wind was blowing on me. I read for awhile, and then started to feel sleepy. I laid in a daze, half asleep and half awake, beads of sweat collecting on my face. It was quite uncomfortable. Before long, I opened my eyes, and I could see Phnom Penh's Japanese Bridge in the distance, and I knew it would not be long before I was home, where I could escape the heat by taking a cold shower and then fall asleep in my bedroom with the airconditioning on. Koh Dike, Cambodia Posted Monday, March 14, 2005 Click here for more photos of Koh Dike Note: click photos to enlarge I went with my friends Roger and Jonah to Koh Dike Island in the Mekong River about 45 minutes NE of Phnom Penh. Roger is starting an organization to promote the use of solar voltaic energy in Cambodia, and he was going to the island to see a small-scale solar voltaic energy installation. He invited us to go along for a sightseeing trip, and to get out of the city.
We found the ferry-port, paid 1000 riels (about $0.25) for each motorbike, and loaded onto the boat. When we got to the island we were met by the man with the solar voltaic energy installation. He was a Swedish man named Greg who had been living in Cambodia for seven years. He owned a beautiful piece of property on the island with a view of the Mekong and a beautifully built, spacious wooden house raised on stilts. The place was beautiful and tranquil. When we first arrived, there was the humm of a diesel water pump in the distance, but that soon shut off, and all we could hear was birds chirping, and the occasional chatter from the neighbors.
Greg also had a solar voltaic panel set up for his neighbors. The solar voltaic panel was shared between three households, with one responsible for the security of the equipment. The three houses would bring their batteries to a central charging station at the base of a metal pole that supported the solar voltaic panel. The charging station was a pad-locked, rain-proof metal box with two alligator clips inside to charge the batteries. The families would alternate; every third day it would be their turn to charge their battery. With the power provided, they could generally use a small black and white television, a single light bulb, and a radio for three days. The system had a simple, pure democracy to it: if a family used too much of their power, they would run out before their charging day, and would simply have to do without. --------------------------------
I asked if they had kromah's, the traditional all-purpose Cambodian headscarf and handkerchief. She showed me two different kinds, one plaid with black on white, and the other purple on white. When I asked how much, she said, "Bai poen," (3,000 riel, about $0.75). I replied, "Pee poen," (2,000 riel) and she quickly agreed. Just as I settled the deal, realizing I had probably paid too much, two women arrived on a motorbike carrying a basket full of sarongs, kromahs, and table-cloths. They were clearly returning from the market, where they had spent the day trying to sell the textiles. They went straight into sales-person mode, and started unfolding the cloths and arranging them for us to see. The cloths were beautiful colors which shimmered like silk in the fading evening light.
As night descended, we thanked Greg for the lovely afternoon and the tranquil escape from the city, and then followed the funky dirt track back to the meet the ferry boat to take us across the Mekong, back towards Phnom Penh. Click here for more photos of Koh Dike Phnom Penh, Cambodia May 22, 2003 Rain The rain started suddenly and then increased intensity for ten minutes until it was pouring quite hard. The small alleyway between my house and that of my neighbors started to flood, the rain filling it faster than the drain could empty it. Soon there was about two inches of water.  At first it got very quiet outside as everyone rushed in doors. But soon I heard laughs and shrieks as children started playing in the water. I went to the window and saw shirtless and shoe-less boys playing soccer in the street and girls playing under water spouts, taking rainwater showers. A few young children walked around barefoot and naked. Everyone appeared to be having a great time.Sras asked if I wanted to take a shower in the rain. At first I laughed, but she was serious. It seemed like fun so I agreed, first changing into my swimming trunks. I wanted to remove my t-shirt, but Sras insisted I not. We walked out the road to the main road, Sihanouk, and then headed towards the riverside of the Tonle Sap, five long blocks away. It was dusk, and as the night approached the light turned a beautiful cold silver, flashing off the wet surfaces. The road was flooded on the edges, as were areas of the sidewalks. Here and there we had to walk through an inch or two of gritty water. Lots of motorcycles and cars drove down the street, some weaving along the road as they whizzed by at scary speeds. As we approached the riverside Sras paused, staring at a small lump in the middle of the road. As I looked the lump jumped an I realized it was a frog. Motos wizzed around it, both of us flinching as they came dangerously close to the frog. We watched as several waves of traffic passed, each time wondering if the frog would be squished when the traffic cleared. When there was an adequate break we stepped into the road and I reached to pick-up the frog. Another wave of traffic approached, the motos steering to avoid us. People on the sidewalk stared as we walked to the edge of the street, setting down the frog and watching to make sure it didn't hop back into the road.  We walked on towards the riverside as dusk fell. There were not the usual masses of people about, but still a surprising number considering the rain. A few vendors were selling fruit, snacks, and drinks. A group of 14 girls were in a circle, paired up with one sitting and one standing behind, a large gap between each pair. They tossed a tennis ball around the circle, and when someone dropped it, another individual would pick it up and throw it at them. But they would inevitably miss because they were giggling so much, and have to chase down the ball.We sat for awhile, but as we were no longer moving we started cooling off and decided to head for home. We skipped and ran through the puddles, splashing mud and water all about. The next day I woke up with a sore throat. Now Online! Cambodia Photography Set 1 Phnom Penh, Cambodia May 16, 2003 Going to School My neighbor, a friendly twelve year old Khmer girl named Ya Ya, started attending school last week. Until recently she had been living in a rural province and was unable to attend school. Yesterday I walked her to the campus. We walked down the funky street leading from our houses, avoiding piles of garbage and muddy puddles. We reached the paved road and took a right, walking on the side of the street with motorbikes whizzing past. Motodop (motorcycle taxi) drivers were parked at the corner, and as we approached they called out "moto?" One started his bike, pulled before us, and asked "moto?" We only had a few blocks to go so I said "attay" - no. We came to the main street, called Sihanouk (the surname of royal family). The street had three chaotic lanes of traffic going each direction and a large grass covered divider in the middle. We cautiously crossed the street, traffic zigging and zagging around us. We came to the school. At the front a mass of bicycles were parked, with a few motorbikes mixed in. we walked across the grounds, heading towards Ya Ya's classroom. The earth was mostly dry dirt with small patches of grass in shady areas beneath the trees. Many trees were scattered around the area. In the middle some sort of sports court was setup, resembling volleyball, but with no net. Metal cables laying on the ground and staked at the corners marked the boundaries and center division. A few young children were playing with a piece of yarn strung between two trees. They were trying to grab the yarn with their feet while jumping in the air. The children at the school ranged from six years to nineteen years in age. The girls wore long navy blue skirts and white button up shirts. The boys wore pants and shirts with the same colors. We came to Ya Ya's classroom and we said goodbye. I turned away and started exploring the rest of the campus. In a prominent position near the entrance to the school on a classroom wall a large painting conveyed a message about HIV. On the left edge was a young man's face with a thoughtful look. On the right were two scenes, one with a small family - a young boy, father, and mother nursing a baby. The other scene had an image of a gaunt, haggered looking man laying in a hospital bed, a pained look on his face. Arrows connected these images to the top of the young man's head showing that they were his thoughts. In the center of the billboard a condom was painted and at the top Khmer text delivered a message about AIDS prevention. I strolled behind a group of classrooms and found a lovely grassy area with flowers and benches around the edges. Trees surrounded it, offering shade from the baking mid-day sun. A young man approached me and asked in very careful English, "What is your name?" I answered, and started to ask his name, but as I did he asked, "What is your nationality?" Again I answered, and then repeated my question. "My name is Theavy," he said. We talked for a short while. he told me he was eighteen and was studying Khmer, English, and computers. He was interested when I told him I was a web designer. He asked if I had an email address, and when I gave it to him he asked if I would respond if he wrote to me. I said, "Of course," told him it was nice to meet him, and walked on. I circled around the classrooms, three story cement buildings with few windows and flimsy wooden doors. The doors of the buildings were locked with padlocks, unless in use. I was no longer under the shade of the trees, and the sun was baking hot. I passed the HIV billboard, cluster of bicycles, and then exited the campus, making my way through the crazy traffic towards home. CSARO Web Site online www.bigpond.com.kh/users/csaro I have completed design of the web site for CSARO, a local aid organization focusing on waste management, recycling and hygiene education. The web site includes my photography and writing. Phnom Penh, Cambodia April 30, 2003 Fruit The fruit here is delicious. I'm eating lots of my favorites: ripe juicy mangos, sweet pineapples, and pomelos (like a large grapefruit with no bitter taste). I've also being introduced to some new fruits (about 10 in total) and new preperations of fruit. Mangosteens, slightly sweet and simultaniously cringingly sour, with white flesh and slimy black pits. You should see the "sour" look on my face when I eat one of these. And green mangos. Crunchy and sour, served with the peel. And pickled green mangos, reminding me of olives, served with salt, chilli, and fish sauce. Ewww! I'll take them without the fish sauce, thank you. Green papaya, grated and served with dinner like a vegetable. And there have been others, some perfumed, others watery with a mild flavor. Dragon fruit, palm oil nuts, tamarind, and others, the names of which I cannot remember. There are some delicious tastes, but I find myself happily returning to one of my favorites, ripe mangos for desert at lunch and dinner. Phnom Penh, Cambodia April 20, 2003 The Heart of Darkness Since my arrival in Phnom Penh I have gone out dancing nearly every weekend. There are a few different places I go, but after midnight I inevitably end up at a club called The Heart of Darkness. The place gets really full late at night. The dance floor becomes packed, it is hard to move around the establishment, and it's impossible to find a seat. The establishment is nicely decorated with Cambodian bas relief stone carvings and paintings, and soft colored lights bring a warmth to the atmosphere. At one end is a small dance floor, stage, and DJ booth, in the middle is a horse-shoe shaped bar, and at the other end a group of tables and relaxing lounge chairs. The music is cheesie, but very danceable. It goes through a very distinct and noticable progression through the evening, starting with blues, jazz, and rock, then pop and hip/hop around midnight, and melting into "vocal house" around three AM (this classification came from Irish friend Olga. It reminds me of the music played when models walk the cat walk, very electronic). Finally they play hard electronic dance music to keep you dancing until five AM when they turn up the lights and turn down the music. The patrons of the bar are a broad social mix, including travelers, ex-pats living in Phnom Penh, and Cambodian men and women. Lots of the Cambodians are out to dance and have a good time, but many of the women are "bar-girls," there to pick-up clientele. My first night out I went with a Canadian friend, Curtis. I danced hard and stayed up until five in the morning. I had a great time. I met a sweet local girl named Teeya. She said she was eighteen, but she looked about fifteen years old. She was friendly and we danced for awhile. It seemed that she was probably a bar girl, but she was not hitting on me, so I was comfortable hanging out with her. She said she liked my dancing, and pulled me up onto the stage where a few Cambodians were dancing. I danced hard and I looked out accross the packed dance floor and the bar beyond. The air was hazy from the smoke machine and cigarrettes, and colored lights bounced around the room from the disco ball. Eventually the people on the dance floor started to thin out and Curtis went home. Sometime passed and I found myself dancing alongside a Cambodian man Teeya had been talking with. He whispered, "You like my friend?" Pause. "You can sleep with her if you want." I shook my head, saying no, and a strong sour feeling filled my stomach. I've seen Teeya nearly every time I've been out. We've chatted and danced. The energy has been clear and I've felt a bit of a friendship growing. Ten days ago I no longer saw her when I went out. I was worried. My immagination wondered what horrors had befallen her, and I hoped she was okay. The Heart of Darkness, part II Last Saturday three lovely English friends came into town. I met Kamila, Darcey, and Becky in Arombol, Goa, India about two months ago. I was very pleased to see them and did my best to take them out for a good evening. Eventually we ended up at The Heart of Darkness. The Heart was packed with people. I could hardly move, and there was no chance of finding a seat. People were energetic and playful, bouncing around the place as they danced, splashing water on everyone and everything. They had buckets, water bottles, and cups, some filled with ice water, others with warm tap water. I was soon drenched, my jeans and running shoes soggy. My friends bought a bottle of local whiskey, $1 for a 750 ml, snuck it into the club, and secretly mixed wiskey and cokes. We danced for hours as people splashed water everywhere. They seemed to especially like emptying water bottles over my head. I saw Teeya. I wished her a happy new year, told her I was happy to see her, and asked why I had not seen her in so long. She said had been sleeping. I took a break from dancing around 4 AM and stepped out with Kamila and Darcey to have a papaya milkshake at a sidewalk cafe. The shake was cold and soothing, mildly sweet. It tasted more of the powerful flavor of jack-fruit than of papaya. There was probably residue in the blender from the previous milkshake. When we went back into the club they had stopped the music and turned up the lights. Becky was no where to be found, and most of the other patrons had left. Kamila and Darcey decided to go home. I headed to the riverside with Curtis where we met some other people: another foreign man, Teeya, and 3 young Cambodian women. Despite the fact that it was 5 AM the riverside was already teaming with people. Nearly all of them were Cambodians, most of them young. Vendors were selling from low stalls on the sidewalk. They had chilled drinks - water, soy milk, coke, beer - and snacks - dried fruit, chips, and lotus pods with edible seeds. As we sat people began to gather for morning exercise. Some ran laps in the street, circling a large square grassy area. Others were grouped at one end of the sidewalk doing aerobics and energetic dance steps to electronic pop music. We squated on the edge of the river, balancing on the steep bank. We talked and played. At one point one of the girls tried to throw curtis into the Tonle Sap river. He balanced carefuly on the steep bank, swaying back and forth as she tried to push him in. She made a mistake and placed her weight badly, almost losing her balance and falling in. There was lots of laughing and giggling. Much of the conversation was in Khmer, so I couldn't understand the jokes. Curtis is good with Khmer and was interacting in the conversation and occasionaly providing translation and explanation. Teeya said something in half English, half Khmer. I didn't understand so Curtis translated. As he spoke he had a sad, gentle look on his face. Teeya said she had been diagnosed with HIV. She had been tested recently with one of the other girls, and her test came back positive. Teeya was casual when she made this announcement. She had no sadness on her face, no fear in her eyes. She had simply made a statement of fact. I felt immense sadness, and shock. I could tell that Curtis felt similar, but he didn't want to make her uncomfortable, so he tried not to show it. The sun rose over the horizon. It was a beautiful fire orange, streaked with gray smog. The river stretched before, water rippling as it reflected the warm light. As the rays of the sun hit my skin I felt the temperature rise. My shirt had dried completely, but my jeans and shoes were still wet. As I rode home on a motorcycle taxi my heart was heavy and I felt a sour ache in my stomach. It was about 7:30 when I finally lay down to go to sleep. The neighborhood was bustling, and I could hear voices from next door as my neighbors prepared breakfast, starting a new day. Pay, Takeo, Cambodia April 14, 2003 Khmer New Year I am with friends in a very poor rural village about an hour and a half drive out from Phnom Penh. When we arrived we parked the car near the road and then followed a narrow, dusty to the home of our hosts. The houses that lined the path had open space around them. The dirt was hard packed clay. The buildings were raised on stilts to avoid the flooding that came in the bi-annual rainy seasons. The plots of land were divided by fences of tall green cactus with large spines. The surrounding terrain was completely flat. When we arrived the elders of the house were gathered in prayer facing a young, saphron robed Buddhist monk. He sat slightly elevated, chanting with his eyes closed. When finished the monk quietly left, and the elders greated us. One of my companions had brought gifts for them. Each collected their packages and empthatically said thank you. They seated themselves crosslegged on a wooden bed frame, bare of mattress. Soon 12 or so individuals were seated. They posed for a photo, their gifts before them on their laps. The house was a single room, raised on stilts about five feet off the ground. The floor was made from thin strips of bamboo nailed to a wooden framework. The walls and roof were made from woven palm fronds. Around the house was a roof of corrugated tin, providing shelter from the baking sun. On the ground were four wooden bed frames. One was used for cooking and drying dishes and the rest had thin straw and plastic mats with people sitting or laying on them. To eat we sat in a circle on a wooden bed frame, dishes of food between us: white rice; noodles with tofu skin, fungus, and beef; vegetables with tofu and chicken; and whole boiled egges with pork. For desert we were served papaya and watermelon. We ate seperatly from our hosts. I asked one of my companions why. She said, "They have already eaten." At one point I had to go to the toilet. When I asked where it was I was told there was none. "Walk out that way." Then there was some discussion in Khmer, and she said, "Or you can go to the neighbors' who have a toilet." I was fine with just walking "out that way," but now they were insisting on taking me to then neighbors'. I was led back down the dirt track to the house where we parked the car. I asked to use their toilet, which was a small cement room with a ceramic squat toilet and a door made of corrugated tin. 12 noon was the official time for the new year to begin. At five minutes before two candles and about 40 sticks of incense were lit, and a small radio was turned on, powered by a car battery on the ground. The other items were on an altar, with offerings of soda, fresh fruit, plastic flowers, and cigarettes. The volume on the radio was high. I changed my seat to be further away. Children, women, and a few men sat around, some of them talking, but most silent as they listened to the radio broadcast. Faint music played in the background as a man's voice gave a speach in Khmer, a heavy auditorium echo shadowing every word. The mood changed, other voices joined in, and the broadcast started to resemble a radio play. Phnom Penh, Cambodia April 11, 2003 Riverside I'm sitting in a street side bar along the riverfront of the Tonle Sap. Chairs and tables line the street, out front of the numerous cafes on either side of the one I'm sitting in. All of the clientele are foreigners. Before the cafes is a street, lined with motorcycle taxis and the occasional pedal rickshaw, their drivers sitting on the bikes, waiting for customers. Traffic gradually passes along the street. Wow! A motorbike just sped by, doing a wheelie as it drove down the street, going about 40 MPH. Nobody really seems to have noticed. Occasionally a young boy or girl comes to my table, and I pause my writing as they try to sell me something. One boy just offered me a newspaper, and before him another gave me a flier for a new bar opening Friday night. Now I am being offered a shoe shine. Girls sell small wreaths of sweet scented jasmine. Across the road is a wide promenade with grass in the middle and brick sidewalks on either side. On the far side of the promenade is a row of international flags, the closest to me are the American, British, and Swiss. Below the flags is a low wall, with Cambodians sitting, occupied with people watching. Monks stroll by, dressed in rich orange, wearing sandals, their hair shaven short. A few small children are running around naked, and a boy sits in a wheel-chair, watching the water. On the river boats pass, going both directions. Some are large, motor powered vessels, others are small, hand powered by men using long poles. It is about 5:00 PM. The air is hot and humid, and the mood matches. It is mellow and slow. Most people have finished work for the day, and are now relaxing. A large elephant is walking along the road before the cafe, a man sitting on top. It moves slowly, but it is integrated with traffic. It is holding up about 6 motorbikes behind it. The drivers move slowly, looking for their chance to pass, but not particularly perturbed with their predicament. "Sorry I'm late honey. I got stuck behind an elephant on the way home." Phnom Penh, Cambodia April 4, 2003 Wedding Last Sunday I went to a wedding a slum area outside Phnom Penh with my uncle Rob. The bride and groom were young - about 20 years old. The bride was dressed in a bright blue gown tight to her body and simple, with no tresses or frilly decoration other than gold brocade. She wore gold jewelry and heavy makeup, her face flecked with white powder. The groom wore a simple suit with hot pink overcoat and blue tie. It was slightly dirty, looking well used - probably borrowed from a friend. The groom was bashful, but seemed quite excited inside. The bride was unhappy when I first met her, but later she cheered up. The wedding was conducted on a very low budget, so they had not hired a photographer. I offered to provide photography as a wedding present. They were pleased, and posed for all the typical Cambodian wedding shots. I took photos of the bride and groom looking into one-another's eyes, then the bride lighting his cigarette, then the brides-maids and best men. After the cigarette shot the groom looked nauseous - I don't think he had ever smoked before. The wedding was held outdoors, under a square red umbrella, draped at one end with cloth, marking the entrance. The bride and bridesmaid sat in a row on one side of the entrance, across from the groom and best men. As we entered they stood and individually greeted us, either shaking hands or clasping the hands before their faces and nodding slightly. Under the tent tables were setup for the banquet. Plates and forks circled the outside, and in the middle were beverages: Sprite, Strong Man 20% alcohol wine, and Extra Strong Extra Smooth 7% alcohol beer. The beer didn't taste very good so I mixed it with Sprite, like an English shandy. Food was served: Two kinds of pate (very popular in Cambodia), oily rice with scarce vegetables, and plates of meat: fish, beef, and pork. I was not excited. At one end of the tent a stack of speakers were setup, blasting Thai and Cambodian techno-pop. Many of the songs were copies of rhythms or melodies from American songs, but with Thai or Khmer lyrics. However, the music was quite danceable and I found myself moving in my seat. It was so loud I was worried for my hearing, and retrieved my earplugs from my backpack, which brought a chuckle from those around me. Phnom Penh, Cambodia March 24, 2003 Urban Infrastructure Development I visited a slum that was damaged by fire a few weeks ago. On one side of the street houses were fine, but on the other there is only rubble and small remnants of walls. Broken tiles and brick covered the ground, piles of burnt boards here and there. People continued to live there - they had nowhere else to go. Tarpaulins were strung up for shelter, and wooden bed frames (without mattresses) provided a place to sleep. Belongings, what few remained, sat on the ground. A woman was squatting in the rubble, washing clothes in a bucket at the side of what used to be her home. In another "home" two women were clustered around a charcoal fire, grilling meat. At the front of their home was an array of food - corn, cooked meat, and fruit, all for sale. Despite the loss of their home, business had to continue. At some homes reconstruction was underway. Wood was being salvaged, rubble cleared, and measurements made for new buildings, men and women working side-by-side. ---------------- I followed a narrow cement alleyway between houses and then around a corner. I had to duck to avoid a low hanging corrugated tin roof. I rounded a corner and a sulfur smell hit my nostrils. Running down the alley was sewage, draining from kitchen, bath, and toilet, uncovered and with no direct channel to flow in, it simply meandered down the alley. Boards were arranged above the sewage to walk on, with gaps here and there. One had to be careful not to step in the gray water. A young woman sat before her house, cooking on top of the boards. She had some prepared food, which sat in dishes on the boards, and she was grilling meat on a small barbeque on the boards. ---------------- Urban Development: Water Pump The road followed a large canal. A putrid, sulfur smell came from the canal, making me gag with every breath. As we drove I covered my mouth with a handkerchief, but it didn't provide much help. Houses lined the canal with people standing before, some leaning against the canal railing, looking into the "water." The water gently bubbled and frothed, moving slowly with plastic and paper garbage floating on the surface. The color of the "water" was black. My driver informed me that it was an open air sewer (most sewers in Phnom Penh use uncovered canals). Eventually we crossed a bridge over the canal and parked the motorbike. We walked down a small alleyway, turned a corner, and came upon about twenty people, adults and children, going about their daily business. One young man was struggling with a broken hand water pump. He was wearing only pants, no shirt or shoes. Around the pump there was plastic and paper garbage, mud, and broken tiles. It looked very yucky. The man struggled with a length of heavy wire, trying to use it to reinforce the broken pump so it would be usable. Eventually he succeeded, hammering the wire into the necessary shape using the back of a hatchet. Once the pump had been fixed, he still had to struggle to get it to work. To get the pump to work he had to first pour water in. This was tricky, because to try the pump he would have to stop pouring water, but then if he found that it was not working yet he would start pouring water again, but the original water would already have dissipated so he would be right back where he started. After about ten minutes he finally got the pump working, with the help of another person pouring the water. He cranked hard on the pump until a five gallon bucket was filled and then let someone else fill their bucket. However, they were too slow and the pump stopped working and the "pouring water into the pump" had to be started all over again. The water in the bucket was fairly clean, but had a slightly gray-brown murkiness. I asked if it was okay to drink. "Only after boiling, and it has bad taste, especially in rainy season." He reached down and scooped water with his hand, lifting it to his nose to smell. His face didn't show any expression, but he didn't dare taste the water. ---------------- Waste Picker Development Center Half a large barrel sat on the ground, laying on its side. It was filled with a gray liquid resembling runny oatmeal. A young man dipped a screen into the barrel and then lifted it out. It was now covered with a speckled gray sludge. He wiped it from the bottom to remove liquid and then carefully carried it to drying boards in the sun. The screen was flipped over and wiped with a wet sponge until the paper came away, resting on the boards, and then left to dry. A woman sat on the ground in the shade with a pile of long narrow strips of green plastic cut from bags on the ground next to her. She had one strip wrapped around her fingers, holding the slack as she quickly knit a plastic hat with a brim. Beside her another woman was painting an ox-cart on recycled paper, and a third was knitting plastic doilies using strips from a white plastic bag. ---------------- Solid Waste Two young men dressed in bright yellow jackets, straw hats, plastic dishwashing gloves, and cloth face masks walked down the street, one of them pulling a large hand cart behind him. Every ten feet they stopped, picking up plastic bags and containers of garbage and emptying them into the hand cart. Soon the cart was full and they brought it back to the center, one man pulling and the other pushing. At the center the garbage was unloaded into a container for sorting, and then the cart was brought back out to the street to collect more garbage. At the center more workers, also dressed in yellow jackets, hats, gloves, and masks, sorted through the garbage, removing compostables and recyclables and shoveling the remainder into a dumpster. The recyclables were sorted, different types of metal and plastic separated, cardboard stacked over here, and glass collected over there. The compostables were piled into a corner near the 16 composting boxes. In a box at a far end a woman with a pitch fork was lifting mature compost out of a box and putting it into a cart for transportation to the sorting machine where it would be separated by particle size and sealed in plastic bags. The air was filled with the warm, organic smell of compost. Phnom Penh, Cambodia March 21, 2003 Waste Picker Mobile Outreach Team Three stories up on the roof of a large market twelve children between six and fourteen years old met with the Mobile Outreach Team. All are poor waste pickers who sort through garbage looking for recyclables they can sell to buy food. They sat on green tarps spread on the floor. It was 8:30 AM, but already the air was hot. A thin layer of sweat covered my body and dripped down my lower back. The kids played with large Lego-type blocks. There was no fighting over the toys - the kids shared together. At one end a development worker read to one of the boys. The lesson started, and using paintings and photo-copied illustrations the workers discussed the hazards for waste pickers: broken glass, dirty hypodermic needles, etc. A young happy looking girl about ten years old with shoulder length dark brown hair and a dirty red shirt and red and white checkered skirt was stood before the class to answer questions, pointing to objects in the painted illustration and speaking about associated dangers. After fifteen minutes the subject changed to the Khmer alphabet. First the workers held large written versions of each letter before the class, saying the name of each. Again the ten year old girl came before the class, this time identifying the letters. The kids got large markers and started writing the alphabet themselves, looking up every few seconds to check that they were correct. A few of the kids were being helped, the teachers holding their hands as they wrote. Next the first aid gear came out. There was a plastic bag of latex gloves that the students wore and then using surgical gloves cleaned their wounds with cotton wool and iodine, carefully putting the garbage in a plastic bag. The teachers over-saw, but the kids dressed their own wounds and each others, changing latex gloves between each individual. After first aid they played games with puzzles, identifying letters of the alphabet, and reading comics and picture books. Finally food was handed out, about two cups of rice and vegetables, in a plastic bag with a plastic Chinese spoon. The kids ate happily as they listened to one of the teachers reading a story. Before leaving the kids said thank you and goodbye, going to each teacher and myself and clasped their hands before their faces, steepled like in prayer, with a slight bob of the head, and then quickly disappeared down the stairs at one end of the building. Phnom Penh, Cambodia March 18, 2003 Traffic The traffic here is different than in India. Certainly it is just as chaotic, but a different type of chaos. And just as dangerous, perhaps more-so (in my first two days in Cambodia I saw two accidents. I didn't see any in two months in India). Whenever coming to an intersection you must slow down to look out for other traffic. There is no clear right-of-way, other than survival of the biggest. There are no stop signs, at least none that are acknowledged. At major intersections there are traffic lights with timers. Drivers accelerate to make it to the intersection in the last 3 seconds before the light turns red, and others rev their engines just before it turns green. Traffic on the road is a random mix of bicycles, pedal rickshaws, cars, and motorbikes. Most are motorbikes. The vehicles weave back and forth. There are line's on the road, but no-one seems to pay attention. Even the center line is ignored: one direction of traffic will often occupy lanes from the other direction. To cross large roads, whether by foot, car, or motorbike, I slowly edge into traffic, careful not to go in the path of an oncoming vehicle. Drivers will avoid me (in general, but I still must be very aware) and I keep walking. I soon find myself in the middle of the road, trying to tackle the fluctuating transition between the two directions of traffic. Traffic zooms by on either side, but I am reasonably safe. As I walk drivers observe where I am headed and aim for behind me, leaving my path unimpeded. As long as I keep moving everything will be fine. But if I hesitate or try to avoid, I will disaster may result. Confidence and commitment seem to be the key. As long as I commit to where I am headed and confidently pursue that destination, drivers will see my path and avoid me. But I still have to be defensive, to be sure I don't step in front of a large lorry truck (motorbikes are better at avoiding pedestrians). Okay, so safe crossing of streets requires a confident, committed, defensive technique. To enter traffic drivers pull out and trust that they will be safely absorbed. If they must cross oncoming traffic first, then they turn into the oncoming traffic and start driving, vehicles passing on either side going the opposite direction, and gradually cross the street until they are in the correct lane. And for turning, the opposite is done: about a half block before the intersection the vehicle will start "merging" across the road, even into the other lane. On major streets there is usually an extra lane at the edges of both sides of the street with traffic going the opposite direction, preparing to turn, or merging, or whatever. To survive the streets, it is vital to look BOTH ways before crossing the road. Phnom Penh, Cambodia March 14, 2003 Food and Frog So far the food has been quite interesting, and quite good. I have eaten lots of vegetables lightly cooked, still a little bit crunchy, with subtle flavoring of fish sauce and tamari. Usually cauliflower, snow peas, carrots, mushrooms, Chinese cabbage, and shrimp is served with white rice at dinner. I told the cook that I like tofu. I have twice had lightly fried tofu with bean sprouts & green onions. Meat has been served with nearly every meal. Yesterday evening we had fried pancakes of mixed pork and crab. The night before we had fish that was wrapped in leaves and steamed with a spicy ginger curry around the meat. I went out for lunch with my uncle and a Cambodian business associate. We shared the meal of vegetable and palm shoot soup, stir-fried vegetables with slices of pork, and from with a red pepper sauce. The frogs were cut into respective limbs, only the arms and legs used. They were long and skinny, with little meat. The pieces were easy to identify as belonging to a frog. The meat was white and slightly dry with dark veins criss-crossing the outside. The flavor was mild, dominated by the pepper sauce. But it reminded me of chicken (go figure). I had a hard time eating the stuff, more psychologically than due to the flavor or texture. I took one piece, and I didn't pick it very thoroughly for flesh. Massage I laid on a mattress on the floor with my shirt of, wearing only Chinese style "wrap" pants (a very large waste, the extra length is folded over and the straps are tied together as a belt). The masseuse started by washing my feet in a basin of luke-warm water, then dried them. She briefly massaged my feet, popping my toes. I laid on my back as she exerted strong pressure (most of her weight) on two points at the top of my thighs, on either side of my groin. After a little over a minute she began to massage my legs, using her thumbs and elbows. The technique was like poking with the fingers, not kneading that I am used to. She dug her thumbs into on of my thighs at a series of three points, and repeated several times The points started to feel tender with the repeated touch. After finishing with my legs she gave me a thorough back massage, then walked on my back. She left the room for a minute, and returned with a warm damp washcloth which she quickly used on my face, and then gave me a neck and head massage. She contorted my body, stretching my arms and legs, and twisting me to make my back crack. She pulled me onto her legs and bent her knees, lifting my back into an arch to stretch. At times the massage was uncomfortable, but what good massage isn't? And the poking technique was a new one for me. But at the end I felt relaxed and quite a bit more flexible. Phnom Penh, Cambodia March 13, 2003 My house is one large room, about 12 feet wide and 20 feet long. Inset against one wall is a smaller room with a door and a glass window looking into the front "living room" area. In this room I have a bed frame with a new foam mattress surrounded by a lacey blue mosquito net and a fan on a tall stand in the corner. Above is another "room," open to the rest of the building, with a banister over-looking the living room. In this room there is a bed-frame with no mattress, and a sideboard. Yesterday I brought a desk up and setup a borrowed computer and wired the telephone line to the modem. I call this my office. In the back of the central room, behind my bedroom, is a small room - more like a hallway - with a sink and a door opening onto the alleyway separating me from my neighbors. The bathroom is through another door. In a corner of the bathroom is a large water-basin filled with water. A pipe brings water to the basin. To bathe I use a scoop and dump water over myself. In another corner is a white ceramic squat toilet with the surrounding floor raised about 1-1/2 feet from the floor level of the rest of the room. The structure of the building is cement. The floors are tiled, excluding the upper level which has plastic wallpaper like material over wood. Tiles line the walls from the floor to the height of my bellybutton. The tiles have a light gray marble color. The walls have old white paint, turning gray from dust, with smudges here and there. The windows of the building have no glass, only bars and wooden shutters. Sounds and smells carry very well. I can hear people coughing at the neighbors, talking in the alleyway, and televisions and music from the neighborhood. Occasional motorbikes loudly rumble by. In the evenings I hear the noises of children yelling and laughing as they play. The smells of cooking - meat, garlic, wood-smoke - drift freely through the unsealed windows. Occasionally someone walks by speaking Khmer close to one of my windows, the sound exotic to my ears. The temperature is hot and the moisture level is high. When home I spend my time wearing only shorts, preferably near a fan. A thin layer of sweat covers my skin. |
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