Nile Sprague Journal: Cambodia 2004

Nile Sprague Online Journal: Cambodia 2004

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My First Photo Assignment
Kampong Cham
Tuesday, August 20, 2004

See the photos! Click here!

On Monday evening I went to Kampong Cham about two hours drive from Phnom Penh. I stayed overnight and went on my first photography assignment the following day. My assignment was to take photographs of water related issues in several small villages approximately one hour drive away from Kampong Cham, and I was working for a Cambodian NGO called the Center for Development (CfD).

I caught a taxi at Phnom Penh's Central Market. Usually, the taxis fit three people in the front (including driver) and four in the back. I tried to negotiate a fair price to have the front seat to myself, but just after I thought we had reached agreement, the price would go up again, and I ended up riding in the back, crammed in beside three middle-aged Khmer women. For the first hour of the journey they kept up a lively, noisy, laughter filled conversation with the driver. Occasionally they asked me simple questions in Khmer, their thick provincial accents making the Khmer difficult for my ear to interpret. Slowly, I would decrypt their statements and then self-consciously mumble a response using my basic knowledge of Khmer.

For the majority of the journey my legs were facing forward, but I had to twist my upper body to the left to fit alongside the three women. This caused a twist in my spine, which soon triggered an ache in my neck. After some time, I said in Khmer, "My neck hurts," and the woman beside me offered tiger balm, the Khmer cure-all. Eventually the ache was too much, and I leaned my upper body forward and griped the seat in front of me to allow my spine to straighten out.

I went to bed around 11pm. I stayed in the Mekong Hotel, which rests a few feet from the bank of the Mekong River. When I arrived, the gates were locked, and the receptionist was asleep. After loudly calling, "Hello," I was allowed into the hotel and I hired a simple room with two-beds and a fan for $5. I hardly slept a wink before I awoke to a strange tinkling melody emanating from my cell phone, which I had programmed the night before to wake me up. It was 4:30am, and time to get started. My head ached from lack of sleep, and my throat was sore from a cold I had been nursing the last two days. A cold shower and a cup of black tea soon kicked me into gear, and I went downstairs for breakfast.

My guides arrived promptly at 5:30. They were both CfD community facilitators in their early thirties, assigned to the Kampong Cham area. Tep Ketsiny was a short woman with a beautiful smile and shoulder length black hair. She had a white cap on her head with a floppy brim going all the way around, and spoke very good English. The other was a man, Nim Kol, with a playful grin, a relaxed mop of hair, and a good sense of humor. His face was clean-shaven, save for a two-inch tuft of black hair growing from a mole on his chin.

A motorbike taxi was hired for $3 to chauffeur me until noon, then my guides climbed onto their shared motorbike, and we were off. The sun had not yet risen, and the sky was dim, strewn with pale blue clouds, and streaks of yellow where the sun would soon climb over the horizon. We drove for about an hour along a funky dirt road. I clung to the back of the motorbike, fearful that at any moment I would be launched up into the air as we zoomed recklessly over the many potholes in our path.

My guides took me first to see a private water distribution system that pumped water from the Mekong River into a holding tank, which then distributed the water to individual families by a piping network. I interviewed the owner, and she said that she had 86 families connected to her water supply, and each paid an average of $1.25 per month. She said she encountered very few problems with her business, save for fixing the water pump when it broke down. The water that she provides is distributed untreated, and generally boiled in the home before drinking.

Following this I visited another water distributor, also selling water pumped from the Mekong River. He had a piped water network, and a large tank with a faucet next to the road where he could fill hand-drawn water carts. One cart could hold 200 liters of water and cost approximately $0.08 to fill.

I visited several homes which received water from the piped water network. Each had a single spigot outside their house with a blue plastic pipe extending into the ground and running to the distribution center. There was a meter attached to the pipe, just before the spigot, and below the spigot there was a large clay pot used to store water. One house had their water spigot inside an enclosed area with three shoulder height walls, the open wall facing the Mekong River. This area was used for bathing and washing clothes and dishes.

We went to the home of a Community Water Group volunteer who was involved in the CfD project, but she was not home. Instead we interviewed her eldest daughter of fourteen years old. She had a beautiful smile, but when she wasn't smiling, she had a very worried look on her face. In each ear she had simple gold hoop earrings about the diameter of a nickel, and kept her dark black hair in a ponytail. I asked her what her chores were for an average day, and she told me she took the family cows to feed in the fields, watered the plants as necessary, and helped her mother prepare meals. When she had time off she played games with her friends. She enjoyed playing math games, and a game involving a string of rubber bands which the participants jump over, much like jump rope.

Before long the wonderful soft light of the early morning disappeared, replaced by the harsh direct sun of mid-day. The temperature increased, our stomachs began to growl, and moral faded. I could have continued working, but I felt I had already pushed my guides hard enough, asking them to begin at 5:30am, and then translate my interview questions until after 12:00 noon.

For lunch we ate at a small restaurant near a ferry port on the Mekong River. The food was very interesting: four different meat and vegetable dishes prepared ahead of time and stored in large aluminum pots and covered with lids, then placed on a display table at the front of the restaurant. Most of the dishes were filled with pork and chicken, and did not arouse my curiosity. But there was one I enjoyed very much. It was a fried river fish, prepared whole with bones and skin, and then dressed with lightly cooked grated ginger and beans. Delicious.

After lunch I said goodbye to my guides and my mototaxi driver, and caught a taxi back to Phnom Penh. I took a minivan, which was about half full when we started. Every time we passed a group of houses along the road, the driver would rapidly tap on his horn, indicating the presence of a taxi. Soon we pulled over and picked up another passenger who had signaled to the driver, loading their bags of vegetables or fruits into the back. The driver went slowly, but this was fine because I felt safe.

When we arrived in Phnom Penh their was a light rain falling. Many mototaxi drivers crowded around our taxi, blocking passengers exit from the vehicle. I walked a few feet away from the taxi and then chose a quiet, non-pushy moto-driver to take me home.

Conclusion: Overall, my photographic experience was great. However, I felt somewhat insecure about ordering everyone around: sit here, translate this question, tell me about your family, etc. At the same time, it was great to be in control of the situation, have the full attention of my subjects, and direct our agenda. And I took some wonderful photos which I will share with you shortly.

Kabal Chaay, Sihanoukville
July 27, 2004

Last weekend I spent two nights in Sihanoukville, a quiet beach town on the Gulf of Thailand, on the western coast of Cambodia. It is the off-season, and the tourist spots were quiet, nearly deserted.

When I arrived the sky was overcast and the temperature was mild. Shortly after checking into my hotel it started to rain, but it soon thinned out to only a sprinkle.

We made plans to go to a nearby waterfall named Kabal Chaay the following morning. But when I awoke to pounding rain and a thunderstorm at 6:30 AM, and it still hadn't quit at 10:30, we decided to ditch the plan. Some beach vacation this was turning out to be!

That afternoon the sky dried out enough to tempt us to go. Jonah and I headed out by motorbike, departing around 3:30 PM. The drive took about 35 minutes: First zooming along a nice smoothly paved road at 80 km/h for about 15 minutes, and then twenty minutes along a deep-red, iron rich dirt track with sparse traffic of other tourists coming and going from the waterfall by car and motorbike.

After paying admission and parking fees for the motorbike, we crossed a sturdy wooden footbridge at the top of the waterfall. The river was high, and on the far side the bank had been washed away. I removed my shoes and sock, rolled up my pants, and waded through the water.

Remaining barefoot, I followed a trail about a quarter of the way down the waterfall, Jonah following behind. The falls were beautiful, visible above and below us. The water was gushing at an incredible rate, curving gracefully over rocks and boulders. The color was yellowish brown, tinted by iron rich earth swept from the surrounding land.

At a right angle to the fall was another, smaller river joining the main river. The smaller river had a small waterfall with a gentle, flat expanse of water below. This expanse was surrounded on three sides by gentle hills with trees and shrubs drooping over the opening, shrouding it in a canopy of dark green leaves.

As Jonah and I neared the small waterfall we saw a pile of clothes and several pairs of shoes on top of a rock, and heard faint laughter. Soon we spotted the source of the laughter: two foreign men and two Khmer women were bathing in the waterfall. The men sounded like they were German and were wearing small, tight fitting swimming shorts. The women were wearing bikinis, a rare sight in modest Cambodia. When they noticed us, one of the women said something in Khmer and a moment later her friend handed her a sarong, which she quickly wrapped around her body.

I sensed their discomfort at our presence and shifted to the far side of the clearing and directed my attention away from them, towards the waterfall, and beautiful forest surrounding. I did my best to demonstrate this through my body language, turning my head and body. However, it was a hard task to accomplish, given the small size of the clearing, made smaller by overhanging branches, and the fact that they were bathing right at the base of the waterfall, the very thing I had come to see.

The sky soon started to rain. At first just a light patter, hardly penetrating the leafy cover overhead. Then it got heavier, and we started to look around for cover. Nearby there was a large overhanging boulder with a dry patch below and a nice view of the small waterfall. We sat there and waited. After a few minutes the Khmer and German couples left and we were left with the quite pitter-patter of the rain, and the constant, gushing sound of the waterfall.

Soon the rain lightened enough that we decided to leave the cover of the overhanging boulder and explore the rest of the area. There were many wooden shacks with raised wooden platforms to sit on. Most were deserted, but a few had vendors offering cold drinks, food, and cigarettes. At a few there were large groups of people with children playing about, probably groups of families on weekend outings. There was a calm area of water upstream from the small waterfall where a woman played with two small children, a big smile on her face.

We crossed the small river by another wooden footbridge and walked along to a spot where we expected to get a good, head-on view of the falls. However, the trees were tall and overgrown so we were only allowed small glimpses of the beautiful sight beyond.

After this, we quickly "wrapped-up" our tour of the waterfall and sped back towards town by motorbike, arriving shortly before dusk fell.

Death
June 28, 2004

Last week a child from my neighborhood was hit by a car. I didn't know him personally, but Sras was friends with him. The news spread quickly around the neighborhood. Sras was the one that told me, within a few hours of the accident. When she started telling me I could see her eyes beginning to water and I hear her voice trembling.

Apparently the boy was riding on a motorbike and a car came up behind him at some speed and hit him. It was an accident: the driver had been distracted and didn't see the motorbike in his path. After further discussion I learned that the boy was hit by a large dump truck, not a car. The confusion had occurred because the words for truck and car are the same.

The boy sustained serious bodily injury and was rushed to a local hospital. As Sras described it, when they cut him open everything inside was broken and bleeding, and there was nothing they could do. He died from internal injuries at midnight.

A day passed and then they cremated his body at Wat Lanka temple a few blocks away. In Buddhist tradition, the family generally waits three days before cremating the body. The family would have waited longer but could not, because the boy's body was beginning to bloat and decompose in the heat.

Another two days passed. I was expecting to see funeral services, and I wondered if perhaps they had already been held. Then on Sunday morning at about 7am I woke up to the sound of clanking metal and hammering outside my door. With my eyes half open and my brain half awake I saw a tent being erected in the street outside the house of the boy's family, and large cooking pots and sets of plates and bowls being carted in. The tent was built on a metal frame and covered with bright blue canvas.

Soon there was a large tent in the middle of the street with loudspeakers on the roof. The speakers were playing traditional Khmer instrumental music. The sound reminded me of a child banging on pot and pan lids, except there was a complex, chaotic rhythm keeping everything centered. The music filled my second story apartment, coming through an opening for ventilation in the wall near the roof. Some friends came by to ask me questions about digital cameras, and the music was so loud we had to yell to be heard.

I didn't leave the house all day (it was Sunday, after all) until about three in the afternoon. At that point many people had arrived at the funeral, and they were seated at tables in the road under the tent, chatting and eating. The men and women were seated separately, but they were all dressed in white. A large row of motorbikes was parked at one end, blocking most of the road in front of a neighbor's house. When I drove out I had to carefully navigate my motorbike around the different obstacles, avoiding motorbikes, tent poles, and guests.

When I came back there was a man walking down my road towards the funeral with a young boy and girl, one on each side, holding his hands. At the funeral there were quite a few people, most dressed in white, paying their respects to the bereaved family. The mood was pretty light, not the somber atmosphere that I usually expect at a funeral.

The gathering went on into the night and eventually dissipated. When I went out at 10pm to lock my motorbike away, there was a group of men sitting with the tent and equipment, carrying on a jovial conversation. They were the "caterers", and would spend the night outside to make sure the equipment was safe.

The next morning I awoke at 7am to the sound of a Khmer prayer, followed by music. It was coming from the loudspeakers on top of the funeral tent. I got up and found some earplugs and then went back to sleep. When I finally left the house later that day, the tent had been completely disassembled, and workers were carrying away the metal frame, and other equipment.

"My arms are so sore..."
June 11, 2004

My whole body is sore. My arms ache, my legs ache, and my neck is stiff. When I walk or move, I am slow and lethargic, every movement inducing a subtle sensation of pain.

I went to the gym on Wednesday (two days ago) for the first time in about two weeks. The gym is at the posh Intercontinental Hotel, on the third floor next to the outdoor swimming pool. Going there was quite an experience in itself. First I drove for about fifteen minutes, right across town. I parked my motorbike outside, and entered the hotel from the bottom floor. As soon as I had passed through the thick glass doors, I was engulfed in the cool, air-conditioned environment, a strong contrast after the sticky heat and humidity outside.

The fanciness of the hotel was very striking after driving through Phnom Penh. Everything was so clean and orderly, and the people were calm and quiet. Outside, the city was noisy and dirty, and the motorists were pushy and dangerous. Inside the hotel, uniformed staff were scattered about, quietly doing their jobs. They were all Cambodian, dressed and combed impeccably, and spoke great English. The hotel must have been over-staffed, because the staff never really seemed busy. They were usually standing around, and they would watch me as I walked past. If I made eye-contact, they would offer a friendly nod or smile in acknowledgment.

As the gym was on the third floor of the hotel, an elevator ride was required to get there. This was one of the few times I have had the opportunity to use an elevator in Phnom Penh. The elevator was fitted with mirrors and shiny brass railings. Occasionally there was a uniformed man in the elevator, polishing the metal with Brasso.

When I walked into the gym, I really felt like I had stepped into another world, and I forgot all about the city outside. A well-mixed group of men and women were working out on the exercise machines, and lifting weights. Some were rich business-people or tourists staying at the hotel, others were members of the Cambodian upper class: senators, other high-ranking political figures, and wealthy business owners. There were also a number of very fit personal trainers - perhaps more of them than there were clients. They obviously had very little to do, and spent most of the day lifting weights and keeping fit.

I started my workout with some stretching, and then I went straight to the running machine and ran for twenty minutes. By the time this was finished, I was pretty tired, and I was at a loss for what to do next. I wandered around in a light-headed daze, sipping water, and watching other people work out. After about ten minutes, enough energy had returned that I was ready to get back to exercising. However, my legs were still very tired, so I started lifting weights with my arms. I was using exercise machines, not free weights.

I progressed along the line of exercise machines, each working a different group of muscles. On each machine I did three sets of 15-20 repetitions, allowing my muscles to rest for a minute between sets. I was lifting enough weight that each time I neared the twentieth repetition, my strength would give way, and I would have to stop for a minute.

The line of arm exercise machines eventually ended and lead to leg-workout machines. Despite the fatigue in my legs, I decided to give these machines a try. The last machine had me lay on my back with my legs in the air at an angle. My feet were against a metal platform which held two sets of weight plats. There was already 140 pounds of weight loaded on the machine, so I decided to try lifting this much. I did three sets of nine repetitions, and my legs nearly collapsed as I neared the last rep. When I got up, my whole body was fatigued and I had a headache. My workout was clearly finished.

My face was glistening with a thick covering of sweat, and my undershirt was thoroughly soaked. I went to the changing room, undressed, and walked to the sauna wearing a towel. The sauna was empty, so I laid down on the top seat and allowed relaxation to engulf my entire body, gradually filling every limb.

It always seemed a bit strange taking a sauna in Cambodia. When I was outside in the normal hot, humid air, it was hard to fathom how I could possibly enjoy sitting in a room filled with hot. But after an hour and a half workout in an air-conditioned room, it sounded lovely. That was the thing: it took an air-conditioned room to make me take a sauna. After the sauna, I took a shower, bathing in the only hot water I would experience for weeks.

The Rains Are Starting
Thursday, June 3, 2004

Yesterday it started to rain. I was in my new apartment (I had moved in the day before) talking with Jonah. He was having a hard time, having found out earlier that day that a schoolmate had been shot in the back and killed. We were talking about life and happiness, looking out from my balcony at the neighbors.

The sun was beaming down, baking the roofs below. Then I heard a pattering on the roofs, and realized it had started to rain. It was still very sunny, but dark circles were appearing on the roofs where rain fell.

There was a bustle of activity as things were brought out of the rain. Drying fish, rice, and laundry were all moved inside, and people that had been sitting on the streets in front of their houses moved to get out of the rain.

A young naked child came out of one of the houses and started dancing about, playing in the rain, and stomping in puddles. The sun was still shining, but the temperature was starting to drop, and there was a warm, musty smell in the air.

----

The rain stopped and we went out together: Sras, Jonah, and I on one motorbike. First we went to a shop to get motorbike helmets. On our way there, a strong wind started, whipping around and changing direction every few seconds. In front of us was a dark, ominous cloud blanketing the sky.

As we picked from the selection of helmets, the wind got stronger. Jonah paid for his helmet with a $100.00 bill, and as we waited for change, the sky started to rain. By the time the change arrived, it was dumping hard, so we waited under the eaves in front of the store.

After about 45 minutes, the rain let up enough that we dared to leave the shelter, and we started down the road on my motorbike. I was on the front of the motorbike, so I caught most of the rain, and Jonah and Sras were pretty much dry. But, after about five minutes, the rain got much heavier, and we frantically tried to decide how to avoid getting soaked.

I spotted a "Seeing Hands, Massage by the Blind" place, and quickly pulled under the eaves and out of the rain. We all got one hour massages, hoping that the rain would stop by the time we were finished.

After laying on the massage table for about 20 minutes, I turned my head to look outside. It was still raining, and the street had flooded. The water height came up so high that it was halfway up the tires of passing bicycles, right up to the middle where the spokes met.

Ten minutes later a car drove by going rather fast, and washed a big wave of murky brown water in the front door. I jumped off the massage table and grabbed my clothes and shoes from the floor as the water spread, soiling the entire floor.

When the massage was finished I looked outside and saw that the rain had stopped, but the street was still flooded. I tried to drive my motorbike, but it stalled after 1/2 block, and would not start again. I had my walking shoes with me, and I did not want to get them wet, so I pushed my motorbike, walking on bare-feet. Jonah and Sras followed behind. Eventually I made it to dry land, and after a few tries I was able to start my motorbike and drive the rest of the way home.

Since that day, I have brought a kit with me when I go out: I try to make sure I always have a rain poncho and a pair of flip-flops.

My First Coil
April 9, 2004

Over the years I have traveled many times with my father. Besides the obvious things like his cameras and glasses, there is one item that he always travels with. This is a heating coil used for boiling water. He always has one, and sometimes two or three.

A coil is a very simple device: it is a heating element (spooled wire) on the end of a half meter of electric cord. When placed in a cup of water and plugged in, it will boil the water in about 60 seconds. As a travel item, this is invaluable, offering all sorts of possibilities for "room-made" food and drink, including instant noodles, coffee, and oatmeal.

Of course, my father primarily used it to make tea.

------------

I have been traveling for some time, but I've never had my own coil. When I went to Thailand a few months ago I brought tea and my friend and traveling-companion Jonah brought coffee and a french press. We were drinking our own hot beverages every morning, and we were in need of a coil (I can only ask a guest house for hot water so many times before feeling that I'm taking advantage).

In Thailand I looked for a coil numerous times, but i could never find one. All they sold were large, plastic water heaters, like electric kettles. Perhaps the country is not poor enough to bother with coils.

However, in Cambodia a coil is not hard to find. I asked Sras to go shopping at the market for o me, and I was soon furnished with a coil, stainless steel cup with handle, and teaspoon for the bargain price of $2.50. Jonah was given a matching set.

The next morning when I woke up, I boiled my own water in my room, and made a sandwich. I sat in bed, sipping my hot tea and eating peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches and watching the BBC on TV.

I guess that we all adopt the ways of our parents to some extent, at the same time making them our own. Dad, thank you for teaching me the value of a coil.

Sunset Swim
March 25, 2004
Sihanoukville, Cambodia.

I left Phnom Penh around lunchtime, following a flurry of errands in the morning. The journey was four hours and quite boring. Iíve done it many times before, so I made a commitment to ignore everything, and thoroughly read every sentence of the newspaper to distract myself.

The day was hot, and the A/C in the bus was barely working. Sras slept in the seat next to me, leaning her warm body against mine. I was uncomfortable. I felt claustrophobic and dehydrated. I didnít want to drink any water for the fear that I would have to go to the toilet before the bus stopped (This happened to me on a past journey. I was in terrible need of a toilet for well over an hour. The culmination involved an unpleasant experience with an empty water bottle.).

We stopped several times along the way to let off locals, and arrived about an hour before sunset. We happily emerged from the bus, and were greeted by a hoard of pushy motorbike taxi drivers. We negotiated a fair price for a ride to a nice hotel we had stayed at before.

When we arrived the man and woman running the place had a puzzled look on their faces, but as soon as I removed my helmet they recognized my face and greeted us warmly.

We deposited our stuff in the room and I changed into my swim shorts. We walked to the beach, about half a kilometer along black top, and arrived just as the last band of golden sunlight was creeping off the sand. I swam in the ocean, barely feeling the water because itís temperature was so close to my own.

Sras sat on the beach and watched. A young woman approached her, selling small bright-red lobsters from a tray balanced on her head. Sras bought several for a few pennies, and sat on the beach eating them. First she removed the shell from their backs, and then she used her fingers to pull the white meat from the body.

I lounged in the water, floating on my back, the gentle up and down of the waves slowly rocking me. I swam underwater, testing my lung capacity, and exploring the bottom of the sea. When I returned to the surface, a cool breeze was blowing on my face. It was cold and refreshing, contrasting sharply with the warm water. The last rays of light had left the beach, but the water still had a beautiful golden surface, gently rippling in the small swell.

Interruptions
March 26, 2004
Lapona Restaurant, Sihanoukville, Cambodia.

In Phnom Penh I cannot sleep in. Every morning I awake around 6 am to the noises of the city. I lay in bed, trying to sleep, but still half awake, until suddenly everything becomes quiet at 8 am. Presumably everyone has left for work at this point, so there are no more slamming doors, crashing dishes or honking motorbikes. I continue to lie in bed, trying to sleep, but soon it gets too hot and by 9 am I get up and start my day.

Now I am in Sihanoukville, a quiet seaside town on the Gulf of Thailand, and it is quiet enough for me to sleep in. I did not rise until 11 am this morning. After I got up I walked to a nearby favorite restaurant and ordered pancakes. I started writing in my journal, working on an uncompleted entry from the night before. After a few sentences I was interrupted by a gray-haired man wearing a black bandana decorated with yin-yang symbols. He leaned towards me and asked, "How long are you here?"

I looked up from my writing and replied, "I arrived yesterday, and Iím staying about a week."

He asked, "Where are you from?"

"I live in Phnom Penh, but Iím from California. And where are you from?" I asked.

"I am from Italy," he replied. In my mind I thought, "Thatís odd, he sounds German."

He continued, "But I am also from Austria. Actually, I used to be a teacher. I taught Arnold Schwarzenegger when he was this small." Using his hand, he indicated the height of about three and a half feet.

Another man came to the restaurant and sat at a nearby table. The first man turned and greeted him in German. I returned to my writing. As I finished the third page, I was interrupted again.

A man and woman walked into the restaurant. I had met them before on a previous visit to Sihanoukville. The man was Canadian, in his mid-forties, and had lived in Sihanoukville for several years. His hair was curly and sandy blonde, and his blue eyes held a look of sad regret. The woman was his girlfriend or wife. She was a small Cambodian woman in her mid-twenties. She came and greeted me. I stopped writing, and greeted her.

We started a conversation, asking after each otherís health. She explained that she had just come from the doctor and that she had a terrible list of symptoms: Fever, headache, vomiting, and worse. She had a small piece of cotton taped to the top of her hand where an IV needle had recently been. The doctor said she probably had typhoid fever.

The waitress came to take their orders, and I took advantage of the pause to return to my writing. As I approached the end of the fourth page another man came to join us. He knew the couple, and sat right down. He was large and overweight, shirtless, wearing only jean shorts and a fanny pack. His large belly stuck out over his shorts, hanging down to obscure the fanny pack. I had seen him the night before dressed exactly the same and driving a small 100cc motorbike decorated with hundreds of small plastic figures. By his appearance I really wondered about this guy. Was he some pedophile trying to lure small children with the multitude of toys glued to his motorbike?

I continued to write, but was soon interrupted again as the man asked, "So, why are you here, for the pussy?"

I replied, "No, my uncle lives here, and I came to work."

The man continued speaking to me, asking where I was from and explaining himself and his life. He was a Vietnam veteran and was missing two fingers to prove it. He kept reaching up with his left hand to scratch his face or brush back his hair, and my eyes would dart around, first focusing on the peculiar missing fingers, and then self-consciously looking away not to be rude.

The man asked when I was getting married. I said, "Not too soon."

"Thereís a new adventure for you," He laughed. "Personally, I think itís easier to just pay a whore than to marry a woman."

I replied, "I suppose it depends what youíre looking for."

He laughed again and said, "Well, you could give a whore $20 and she would be happy, but a wife, she is going to want a $20,000 car. Thatís a big difference. Obviously, there is a lot of money to be saved with a whore."

I returned to my writing and finally finished my last paragraph. I paid my bill, said goodbye, and walked to the beach. As I walked I reflected on the difficulty I was experiencing in my efforts to write. I had come to the restaurant and sat alone with the specific intention of writing in my journal. Yet I could not escape interruption, first by the man at a neighboring table, and then by people coming to sit with me. It didnít bother me. Quite the opposite: It is nice that people are friendly and open, and despite the fetid nature of some of the conversation, the experiences can be fascinating.

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