December 15, 2009

Expats, Immigration & Integration ...... Oh My!

Almost every meal, my host mother asks me, “Do you have this dish in America?” Not could you make this in America? But more specifically, do you eat this in your everyday life? Sometimes the answer is yes. Yes, we eat beef and broccoli stir-fry. Yes, we eat yellow curry sauce. More often than not though, the answer is no. We do not eat fermented fish paste, no boiled fish soup, no bland rice porridge, and definitely no chicken feet. Every once in a while, when I say we (“we” meaning all Americans as far as Cambodians are concerned – the concept that the United States is as large and diverse as, well, 50 separate countries, is impossibly difficult for this tiny, extremely homogenous culture to grasp) she gets a puzzled look on her face. “But, Whitney-oi, when I visited my family in America, the Cambodians there had this. America is just like Cambodia.” …Just like Cambodia if you’re living in Long Beach, California or Jacksonville, Florida perhaps (the two most highly Khmer-populated cities outside Phnom Penh), but probably not if you’re from Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania or even Sacramento, California.
Whenever she says things like this, I can’t help but think about cultural integration and what that means. How many times have you sat in a nail salon listening to Vietnamese and feeling like a complete foreigner in your own town? Do you consider your barbeque spareribs from China Sea Chinese food or American food? Does the Spanish-speaking population still have a claim to the American dream if they can’t speak English? Now, I don’t want to start a political debate about immigration laws, so let’s take it one step farther: if you studied or have traveled abroad, how often did you speak the native language? Did you hang out with mostly Americans, doing “American” things? Do you have to fully integrate to appreciate a culture? Should you fully integrate if you immigrate? And where’s the balance when you’re living abroad as an expat, hoping to share your culture?

When we first arrived for training, Peace Corps pushed us to integrate, integrate, integrate—or as I like to call it, “go native.” Live as Cambodians live, eat as they eat, speak as they speak. But is that realistic? As humans, we are programmed to seek out like-minded people, a sense of the familiar, and a taste of home. Even in France, every once in a while my American classmates and I would get together and go bowling or hit the Hard Rock Café for some good ol’ fashioned American fun. And trust me; the Hard Rock is très American. Similarly, here in Cambodia, birds of a feather flock together. Christian and I are always on the lookout at our site for other foreigners because let’s face it, sometimes we just need to speak English, or I just need to vent about how many times a child screamed “HELLOBARANGWHEREYOUGOWHATYOURNAME” as I biked down the dirt road near my host family’s house for at least the millionth time.

That isn’t to say that we aren’t happily adjusted. I can honestly say that I love teaching my classes, I love biking back from Sustainable Cambodia at night and looking up at a billion and one stars, and I love walking by the river with my students talking about everything and nothing. I eat rice two to three times a day, wear a traditional teaching skirt to school, and never show the soles of my feet to anyone. For all intents and purposes, I live like a Cambodian. But, I’m not Cambodian. And I never will be. I am much too independent and outspoken to fit neatly into the traditional female model, I’m too much of a snowbird to cover my shoulders when it hits 104 degrees outside, and I fear that I will never grow accustomed to the slow pace of life here after 22 years of fitting as many things as I possibly could on my “to-do” list before I rushed off to yearbook, painting class, piano lessons, cheerleading, horseback riding, theater rehearsal, or a sorority meeting.

One of the volunteers once told me she never really fit in America, and so coming here and being an outsider and minority was less difficult. At least here she stands out because of the color of her skin rather than some indefinable question mark. Not an unfamiliar story. Many of the expats living in Cambodia have “escaped” to find a familiarity they never could at home. I have seen volunteers fall so deeply in love with the culture that their integration seemed more like a homecoming than a willful assimilation into a new culture. But that certainly isn’t the case for everyone who travels abroad. I would venture to say for my host mother’s family living in Jacksonville, eating Amok fish, speaking Khmer, and attending Pagoda regularly, they are no more American than I am Cambodian. That is to say, we have witnessed another culture, and let ourselves be boiled down into that great melting pot without giving up our essence. We are wholly part, and yet wholly separate from the place we are living in.

I will take with me a deeper appreciation for my family as a result of living in a world rarely dominated by thoughts of the individual. I am more tolerant, more peaceful, and forgiving as a result of watching Cambodians step back from conflict that won’t benefit anyone. I am proud to say I am no longer afraid of spiders and creeping night-time things. And I understand that living with less does not make you less happy. At the same time, I hope to leave my female students with a sense of bravery and courage in the face of adversity. I hope to leave my co-teachers with a passion for their work as opposed to a feeling of obligation. And I hope to see my community embrace their civic responsibility more fully as a result of my service to make a brighter, more sustainable future for Cambodia.

No doubt about it -- Cambodia has left its mark on me. That’s not to say I identify with or am willing to embrace every aspect of this culture, but it has polished some of my undefined edges, and helped me fill in some of the blanks to that age old question, “Who am I?” With every step we take farther from home, we leave footprints behind us, but in the end, it is us who are changed the most. Give me a wheel of brebis and a bottle of côte du rhone and I’ll happily tell you what a Francophile I’ve become as a result of my junior year abroad. For those of you thinking, “I told you so” (ahem, mother), go ahead and say it. Each place I’ve lived has changed me – I believe for the better – and yet, as I look forward to the next chapter in my life, I am happy to say, “There’s no place like home.”

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December 5, 2009

The Gift of Music

I had heard rumors that Korea was donating electric pianos to every province in Cambodia, but I never believed it would actually happen. Or, on the off chance that it did, the piano would be a junky keyboard, quickly absconded by some Khmai staff for a small bribe, or shoved in a closet because it used too much electricity. Either way, I wasn’t getting my hopes up. Then, last Friday afternoon, while I was killing time between classes I heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a piano. A good one.
I poked around until I found where the sound was coming from and to my utter astonishment there was a full size electric piano with weighted keys, built in metronome, working pedals, and—oh please, oh please, God—yes—they said I could play. The teachers in the room pulled up a red plastic chair, sat me down, and waited expectantly. To truly understand this moment, you have to realize I haven’t touched a piano in over a year, and haven’t seriously played in over four years. I always promised myself I would pick up lessons again after college and then I ended up in Cambodia where you can’t find lessons in the capital city, let alone out in the provincial towns. Every once in a while, when I’m fantasizing about my future apartment, browsing the William and Sonoma website in a last ditch effort to save my sanity when things get really crazy here, or playing Martha Stewart with the craft supplies I’ve managed to collect over the last six months, I get this longing to play. To just sit down and close my eyes and get lost in the music for an hour or two like I used to do once upon a time.

I put my hands on the keys and felt the smooth, cool, plastic beneath my fingers. My hands were shaking a little as I stared down at them, hoping that the music hadn’t left me for good. Playing piano is like learning a language…when you don’t use it for a while, you tend to forget. Did I still remember? I looked up at the staff—yup, they were still waiting—and then I began to play. I could feel my hands remembering the first notes of Fur Elise and, as my hands danced, I felt a little bit of that anticipation anxiety slip away—I still had it. It wasn’t perfect and it certainly wasn’t my most moving rendition of the first movement I’ve ever played, but it was there, inside, waiting to be polished.

The Khmai staff was sufficiently impressed and encouraged me to play more … but they didn’t have any music and I’ve long since lost so much of what I used to know by heart. I told them I’d be back and ran outside to find the head of the English department. I asked him if he thought I could play and if there might be people who would want to take lessons. Yes and yes. That’s all I needed. I headed over to the NGO I volunteer at to print out the last Sonitina, Nocturne and Aria I was playing before I quit, a few Christmas songs, and some miscellaneous classical music I thought would be good to “get back in shape” with and then began the long, impatient wait until the next morning.

I was at the school and situated by 7:20 a.m. (probably a new record). I had a small audience for most of the morning, but was more or less uninterrupted for three solid hours. By 10:30, I was starting to get some of my speed back, sure of the most common scales, and rediscovering some of the music that had been sleeping inside me…but badly in need of brushing up on my musical theory to make up for lost time (damn, that Barbra Crane was right-I DID need to know that stuff!).

Being able to play again is an incredible gift. It’ll be wonderful to share with anyone who wants to listen, but also a fantastic escape, and a little piece of home. More importantly, it’s a gift I can give to my colleagues and they can pass on to others when I’m gone. After I finished, several of the staff asked when I would be starting lessons. I said I could start on Monday and would teach a different person each day for one hour, five days a week. I know they were a little disappointed that I would only be taking five students, but learning to play will be a big commitment, and practicing will be a challenge at best.

I already designed my first lesson on the “language” of music. Interestingly enough, music is never taught in Cambodia except in a vocational capacity to monks and orphans learning to play traditional instruments. That means we are truly starting at the beginning. I feel like learning to play properly will be a great cultural exchange, the beginning of what I hope will someday be a true leisure and arts culture (since theirs was wiped out during the civil war), and good mental gymnastics to help push them beyond the easy, expected, and familiar.

It looks like Christmas came a little early this year…and what a present.

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December 1, 2009

Everything but the Cranberry Sauce

In any given Cambodian village you would NOT find turkey, cranberry sauce, butter, milk, an oven, pie crust, wheat flour, cheese, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, casserole dishes, canned corn, rosemary, or an electric mixer. Now, I know what you’re thinking: Thanksgiving is doomed. But this year, I was determined not to let the holiday pass with a stir-fried substitute. The whole idea presented a logistical nightmare. Thursday was out of the question because the NGO I volunteer at just moved to a new—fantastic –but still very unorganized location, which basically means my life is in absolute chaos. But maybe more importantly was the question of food. I convinced Tara to come up to my site, bringing with her all the necessary goodies from Phnom Penh that we couldn’t hope to find here (although a small store in town JUST started stocking cereal this past week, which is a huge upgrade from the usual prok-and-rice breakfast!). We set the date for Saturday, and she Christian, and two other volunteers who live at my site began preparing for the feast. So what do you get when 3 Peace Corps volunteers, a Belgian, and a Canadian set out to make Thanksgiving dinner in a wooden hut without an oven? A Thanksgiving dinner that was just like home –with everything but the cranberry sauce.

We spent all day Saturday wandering around the open-air market finding all the ingredients Tara wasn’t brining from Phnom Penh and the biggest chicken we could find, which ended up being only slightly larger than a Cornish hen. Anne was in charge of the chicken because in Belgium they cook whole chickens and turkeys in a pan without the aid of an oven. Score! I was in charge of mashed potatoes, stuffing, and gravy. Don’t worry mom, I didn’t tell anyone your secret recipe for cow-pie consistency potatoes. Tara was brining canned corn and concocting a delicious green bean casserole with onion rings and alfredo sauce. Who knew!? Christian had the sweet potatoes and pumpkin-pudding-mud-pie. David was in charge of lighting and keeping the charcoal clay burner under control. And last, but not least, we all pitched in a little love to make mulled wine.

Naturally, the whole process to about 10 times longer than it would in the States, and we ended up eating around 9:00 at night, but the wait was worth it!! Everything tasted the way it should, with a few substitutes and quick fixes along the way, and by the end of the night we were all unbuttoning our top pants button and kicking up our feet. In a word: success! We all crashed together in the NGO’s volunteer house and went to sleep dreaming of sugar plums dancing in our heads.

As if the weekend could get any better, on Saturday Christian cooked us a traditional Mexican feast complete with quesadillas, homemade salsa and queso dip, chicken flautas (my absolute all-time favorite Mexican dish), and Spanish rice. He taught us all how to make everything so I promise to cook all the Clinton Tex-Mex veterans the “real thing” once I return!
Although we spent most of the weekend pigging out, as we walked back to my house after dinner on Sunday night underneath a full harvest moon, I couldn’t help but feel it was a real Thanksgiving in more ways than just the menu. I’m especially thankful for my blessings here, where I am reminded daily of what it means to have less by simply looking at my neighbors. I am especially thankful for my friends here who helped me miss my family less and have become like family members in more ways than one. And I am thankful to know my family is at home, safe, happy, and healthy and unbuttoning their top buttons too.

Gobble, gobble, gobble!


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November 10, 2009

Somethin' New

New photos from mom and dad's vacation in SE Asia under the summer photos!
*** NEW PHONE NUMBER: +855978772952 ***

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Jim and Jan(a) in the Jungle

True to Kimmel traveling tradition, mom and dad’s trip to South-East Asia started out on the rocks. And I don’t mean with a twist. Their hotel reservation the night of their departure got bungled, I almost missed my flight because my credit card wouldn’t accept the airport departure tax, and the preceding week had been the usual mess of reservation confirmation, double checking of flights, and last-minute planning. By the time the three of us sat down for lunch at the Dan Ryan’s—of all restaurants—outside Singapore’s Regent Hotel, I would have sworn it was just like every other family vacation: if you can make it to the destination (car muffler, lawn chairs, sanity still intact) you’re probably in for one fabulous vacation. And of course, it was.

Ok, so the vacation didn’t exactly start out in the jungle…unless you want to count Hong Kong and Singapore as part of a very posh urban jungle. Mom and dad spent a few days in Hong Kong exploring on their own and recovering from jet-lag before we met up on the 31st (just in time for Halloween) in Singapore. As always, Singapore was a blur of good food, good shopping, and fine city-life. I was especially excited this time to see the city had already begun decorating for Christmas and was slowly turning from a tropical paradise into a very festive winter-wonderland. Who would have ever guessed? That, combined with the opportunity to celebrate Halloween-in full costume and all-was almost more than I could take.

We spent that afternoon catching up over a very American meal, window shopping, and pulling together my last-minute Halloween costume. Goy and I scrapped the Brangelina idea and decided to go as the birds and the bees instead (although there aren’t as many photos as I’d like because the club was packed from wall-to-wall). Halloween is one of my absolute favorite holidays, and I always say you can judge a crowd or a city by its costumes: and the costumes at Butter Factory were to die for. We rubbed shoulders with everyone who’s anyone from Obama and Spartacus to the Mona Lisa, and even a giant toilet seat! I have to admit, it put many packaged Part-City costumes to shame making their debut at Hamilton College.

The next day, mom, dad and I went to the zoo. Singapore’s zoo is known for its free-range exhibits where the animals live in open habitats without bars, much closer to what they’d experience in nature. Getting to the zoo has been somewhat of a mission since my very first visit to Singapore. Tara and I missed the opportunity the first time after a night of partying (though Tara, Dan, and Deidre all agreed my obsession with eating breakfast with the orangutans was a complete waste of money and would not be participating!!!), my second attempt got rained out so, as they say: third time’s the charm. Mom and dad DID cave in and we all had breakfast with the orangutans, which was fabulous, and then made our way through the other exhibits. My favorites were the orangutans of course, the white tigers, and Philip the seal (who even gave me a kiss!). Unfortunately, the giraffe exhibit was closed, which is always my absolute favorite. After we had our fill of wildlife, we headed back to civilization for dinner at a restaurant called the White Rabbit in an old restored church, complete with stained-glass windows. Just to give you a “taste,” I had baked macaroni and cheese in a black-truffle cream sauce. And don’t even think the words “Kraft dinner.”

On our last full day, we went to Sentosa Island, where we checked out the beach, tikki huts, and golf club. We just missed the Barclay Open by ONE day. But dad did manage to get a few souvenirs of the event. It was the perfect day for the beach—and even mom had to admit the water was as warm as a bath. In the afternoon, we had high tea at the Regent and chatted for hours while we sampled finger sandwiches, scones, beautiful cream pastries, and some excellent lapsang sochun tea. After that delicious late afternoon snack, dinner was a negotiable, so we headed to the Raffles Long Bar where mom and dad tried the famous Singapore Sling. Their reaction was the same as mine – not too favorable, but….. “when in Rome.” After the parentals headed back to the hotel in preparation for our 3 a.m. wakeup call and 6 a.m. flight, Goy and I walked along the river front near the Esplanade and Singapore Flyer, and then sat at a little café on the waterfront looking over the harbor until late into the evening.

As predicted, that 6 a.m. flight was a killer, but we arrived at our hotel in Phnom Penh just in time for breakfast before we headed down to the river front to check out the last day of the boat races celebrating Water Festival. I thought dad was really having flashbacks to ‘Nam by the time we sat down on the roof-top terrace of the FCC to enjoy lunch. Mom and dad both took all the chaos and humanity of Cambodia in stride and took to the tuk-tuks and crowds like white on rice. Although I was eating very little of that during this vacation! That afternoon, we met up with Tara and Tiffany for hors d’ouvres, drinks, and dinner before all of us crashed in our very comfortable beds.

The next morning we visited the Peace Corps office, the National Museum, strolled around town, and caught a late lunch at the FCC (dad’s practically an official correspondent now). We headed for drinks at the Elephant Bar and tapas at Pacharan to top off a fabulous—though short—trip to Phnom Penh. The next morning we caught a late flight to Siem Reap and embarked on the last leg of our journey. It really started to hit me when I realized we had spent more days together than we had left. How it is that time seems to speed up when you’re with people you love?

We stayed at a resort called the Angkor Palace at Siem Reap and truly, when on the grounds you could have been anywhere … but probably not Cambodia. The pristine gardens, luxury spa, and gigantic pool gave no hint of the crazy hustle and bustle just outside the entrance. It was exactly what a vacation should be. 100% relaxing. We spent our first day exploring the resort grounds and then indulging in a 5 course (not so traditional) traditional Khmer dinner. The flavors were exactly like what you could expect to find in a typical village, but the combination and preparation of the food was very creative and absolutely exquisite.

The next day we got an early start to the temples and visited “the big three.” We actually did the reverse visit of what Steve and I did during his visit, hitting Angkor Wat first, followed by Bayon, and lastly the temple from Tomb Raider with the strangling tree roots. As always, the temples were extremely impressive, and it was great to share this unique part of Cambodian culture with the folks. After months of pictures, stories, and phone calls—they finally got to see the real deal. In the evening, we cleaned up and headed to Temple restaurant for a much more traditional Khmer meal and to watch the dancing, followed by a trip to the night-market. Sorry to disappoint you though, Steve, no city-wide power outages this time.

The next morning, we headed to the floating village on the Tonle Sap Lake. This one is much more “touristy” than the floating village near my site, but we did get to see some very interesting fish and crocodile farms, and meet some local orphan children. The floating village is such a unique place, I think mom and dad really enjoyed the experience. In the afternoon dad and his alter ego Jack Bauer got lost in the pages of Gray Man while mom and I had some pampering at the spa before sharing our last meal together.

It was hard to believe the trip was actually over as I stood at the airport waving them on to the next part of their journey (first to Vietnam and then Japan). From the minute of their arrival to the minute they left, they had fit seamlessly into my life here—meeting my friends, experiencing all the things I love and get frustrated about, talking and laughing together—almost as if they had been here the whole time and weren’t on vacation at all. When they left, I remember feeling that not having them was suddenly very out of place.

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October 20, 2009

It Takes Two, Baby

Peace Corps is one of those things you really need to commit to before you commit to it, so to speak. Two years can seem like a long time, and when you’re sitting in an overstuffed lounge chair in the States, it’s hard to imagine how long 730 days really is (give or take). Or maybe what I should say is; all you can really conceive of is what you might miss. Friends’ weddings and graduations, high school reunions, brothers changing careers, parents adding extensions to their houses…the list goes on. But if there’s one thing Peace Corps is emphatic about, it’s that you need two years to really get the most out of this experience. Looking forward to “round two” of my own service, I have to admit – I couldn’t agree more. Here’s why.

Before I left for my year abroad in Paris, our director said you wouldn’t truly feel comfortable in France until right before you were about to leave. Yeah, yeah, whatever – I’d be different. Uh … yeah right. Granted, it took the better part of that year to get over myself and my early-life existential crisis to truly enjoy Paris, but even so, I remember the distinct feeling that I was just getting past the tip of the iceberg as I was sitting in the Champs de Mars—bottle of champagne in hand—toasting our eminent return. What would it be like to do Paris after Paris? That feeling is probably what compelled me to look for work in France post-Peace Corps (an idea the E.U.’s buddy-system recruiting style has long since squashed). I’d know better than to touch anything in a French woman’s kitchen, know when to give les bises two versus three times, and wield as good a pout as the waiter at Café Villieres. Essentially, I’d do it right. Peace Corps gives you exactly that chance. You have a year to go through culture shock, adjust to a third-world country, get over some of the more anachronistic aspects of the culture, make friends (make enemies), find your place and find yourself.

While I was preparing for this school year, I caught myself saying things like, “I’d have given anything last year to known then what I know now.” But of course, you never can. As with everything in life, you have to find the answers in your own time. My first two weeks back at school are living proof of this. I feel more confident in front of the class. I have actually stopped cheating in my classroom (and really, I can’t even tell you what a feat this is given the fact that the school condones a strict “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy on the matter). I have taken ownership of everything from seating to grading, testing, and organizing the lessons. I know what’s expected of me, and exactly how far I can push those expectations with my co-teachers before they have a cultural meltdown (or I do for that matter).

It feels great to look forward to all the lessons I can nail the second time around, all the projects I’m more equipped to organize, and all the relationships I can cultivate free of major cultural gaffes. I’d like to say I haven’t really changed—that I was right all along—but who am I kidding? Peace Corps forces you to reevaluate your values, work ethic, ideals, goals, and habitudes. Some of these things are validated through the experiences, while others are called into question and redefined. It’s a growing process, as much about self discovery and definition, as it is about helping the community you are a part of. And that’s why it takes two, baby – two years that is – because I know I certainly need one more year to get it right.


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October 1, 2009

Update: Typhoon Ketsana

To all those wondering ... Typhoon Ketsana has hit Cambodia. There's an article about it here with more information. Not to worry - my province has been safe aside from heavy rains and minor flooding and I am fine, but 9 people have died in my friend Rebecca's province and many families have been displaced. We send out our prayers for those who have passed and those who have lost their homes and loved ones.

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September 30, 2009

Hari Raya in Singapore

Before I left Cambodia to attend the Hari Raya festival celebrating the end of Ramadan in Singapore, my Country Director told me some of his fondest memories from his own Peace Corps service in Malaysia were of the same festival … and the food that goes with it! After this past week, they are certainly some of my own as well. After five months in-country, stepping off that plane in Singapore felt like a homecoming. The obvious reason being because I had five whole, uninterrupted days to spend with Goy and his friends and family, but also – admittedly – because things are just easier there. I could drink water straight from the tap. Made-to-order sushi at the touch of a computer screen. Working public transportation. No stares, no discrimination, no unwanted attention. It’s easy to forget how absolutely wonderful those simple pleasures are when you’re boiling your own water and trying to keep a low profile amidst the constant celebrity status of being one of a handful of Westerners in rural Cambodia. You know you’ve crossed some line when you feel the tiniest impulse to tear up while watching students study in Starbucks sipping on a chai tea latte. Uh… that being a purely hypothetical example, of course. The festival itself and days leading up to it were incredible. Since the festival is all about food, I’ll start there …

Hari Raya celebrates the end of the Muslim month of fasting called Ramadan. During the festival, everyone visits family and friends to spend time together, ask for forgiveness, and—of course—share a meal. During our visits, I ate four meals in seven hours, putting me in a blissful food coma for the rest of the evening. The whole thing makes Thanksgiving look like a light snack…trust me guys, slow and steady wins the race. Beef rendang, pineapple tarts, chicken korma, cookies made from green peas, chocolates, curries, cakes. The list goes on. The most interesting thing I think I ate was those pineapple tarts. They’re about the size of a quarter with a dollop of pineapple preserve in the middle. The dough tastes similar to shortbread, but when you place the tart on your tongue, it soaks up ALL the liquid in your mouth and crumbles into dust. It’s impossible to talk with it in your mouth, but the whole process is deliciously fun. Almost every house we visited had its own version of this traditional treat, so I got to do a true taste test. Without fail, every time I’d stick one in my mouth my host would ask how it tasted. Answering was easy: delicious, duh! … it’s the struggle to answer the question without raining cookie crumbs all over the carpet that’s the real challenge. Always the lady, I know.

The other really striking thing about the festival is the clothing. And you all know how I feel about clothing. A few days before the festival, I went to the night market at Geylang with Goy, his cousin Inn, his wife Tria, and their daughter Farisha. Let me just say, the night market is crowded…and as someone coming from Cambodia where I literally have to throw elbows to get through the market sometimes—that’s saying something. The later in the week and later at night it gets, the lower the prices fall and the more people that come to bargain. Aside from traditional Malay clothing, you can buy snacks, carpets, fabric and textiles, and an assortment of beautiful goods that I would have needed another four days to even begin to fully explore. We were on a mission though. We all needed to find outfits for the big day. Since we would be going as one “family unit,” we all would wear the same color (black). At each house you visit, you can always identify who belongs with who by what color they’re wearing. All the greens are one family group, all the pinks belong together, all the blues, etc. etc. It made putting names with relatives a little easier for sure! It took us a few nights to collect all the pieces and accessories we needed, but once we did, I have to admit we all looked pretty stunning. The pictures speak for themselves, so have a look at my summer album for the hard evidence.

But what I liked best about Hari Raya was the spirit of forgiveness at the heart of it. At each house, members of the family would kneel before each other and whisper things they were truly sorry for and ask for forgiveness. That person would then forgive them and offer their consolations before the exchange was complete. Although the process is a very personal and private expression (how could it not be when you’re articulating your faults so earnestly to another person), each request for forgiveness is an open act of love rather than a form of judgment. It was extremely touching to watch and an important part of the celebration. It made me realize just how hard it is to take ownership of our daily shortcomings and how beautiful the unconditional love between family and friends really is.

The celebration is a time to appreciate those people, start fresh and find the best within yourself, share your blessings, and spread some joy. Really, who can ask for more?


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September 11, 2009

Just Like Lara Croft

It’s hard to decide where this story starts, but I suppose the root lies here: truth be told, we’re all a little sick of Phnom Penh. Sure, it’s a great place to take a break, but there’s really only so much you can do there without getting a little jaded about life in the Bode. Don’t get me wrong, you don’t see that stopping me from bouncing in whenever I need a fix of Western food and friends … but when Goy called early this month to say he could spend his birthday in Cambodia, I knew we needed to do something special. And what sounds better than a weekend at the beach? Fresh seafood? Fresh air? Warm water and lots of sun? Yes, please! …But Murphy’s Law prevails and we were in for one wild ride. Literally.

Birthday celebration destination: Sihanoukville. Dani, Tara, Scott, Steve, and I all met in Phnom Penh the Saturday of his arrival, checked in and started making the usual rounds around town. Clearly we’d need some Fat Boy Subs and Snow Yogurt before we could do anything else. Check and check. I should have known we’d be in for an adventure when Goy called to say he missed his flight and would have to catch a later plane, but he arrived with no further delay just in time for his birthday and a warm welcome from yours truly. We were off to the beach in no time and I figured the rest of the trip would be smooth sailing. About an hour into the bus ride, it started to rain.

I know what you’re thinking – well, its rainy season, what did you expect? But usually the rain comes in squalls for an hour each afternoon and then stops. This was different. Once it started it never stopped. Four hours later, it was still raining when we got off in Sihanoukville. When we finally got to our hotel -- soaked to the bone and sloshing through shin-deep puddles -- I told Goy he had officially experienced Cambodia at its finest. We waited the rain out, and then headed into town for dinner and drinks.

We got our fix of seafood overlooking the ocean and white sand, eating and chatting until the rain picked up again. Surely it couldn’t keep raining all night, could it? We laughed, fended off beach urchins, and pretended to be beach bums until we caught a break and could make a run for a little bar called Utopia. It certainly lived up to its name … or it certainly would have had it not been pouring. Despite the rain, the twinkle lights were just as bright, and I was just as terrible at pool as ever. We toasted to Goy’s birthday and made the most of the soggy evening, although we were all a little subdued due to the weather.

The next morning it was still raining, but the sky looked promising. We enjoyed a relaxing brunch and then – miraculously – the skys brightened a little so we could go swimming. It was still spitting, but the waves were perfect and the sand was soft. We all jumped waves and body surfed until we needed ice cream, then headed onshore to refuel. As always, the weekend was passing too quickly and we needed to catch the afternoon bus out. By 2:15, we got word that no buses would be leaving and we’d be stuck there for two days.

The what? Two days? Surely this was some tourist trap to keep us here an extra few days? It wasn’t even raining at this point! We found several taxi drivers willing to take us for a small fortune, but it seemed like the buses were truly out of service. Just as I was about to hit panic mode, we found a driver willing to take us for a reasonable(ish) price, but warned us that the roads were flooded and he couldn’t guarantee he’d be able to get us across the bridges? Yeah, yeah – whatever. These people drive through ANYTHING.

Off we went. We made it about half way before we started seeing rapids. On the road. The right side of the road was flooded over onto the pavement, making it look like we were driving through a small network of lakes. All in all, we weren’t worried – there were tons of cars and even a few buses on the road, so surely there couldn’t be a huge problem. That was until we got to the barricades. From that point forward, the roads were truly submerged. The end of the new “river” was nowhere in sight, and there were makeshift boats and jet skis running across like ferries carrying hundreds of waiting people to the other side.

We bargained, we begged, and pleaded and finally got ourselves on a boat. Of course, the boat almost capsized, of course we were ankle deep in sludge, and of course we were getting hopeless ripped off, but at least we were going. We made it safely to the other side and easily found a van to take us the rest of the way to Phnom Penh. Never mind, they crammed 18 people into the van – all of whom wanted to touch us and discuss how we ever came to be on a Khmer shared taxi. Ah yes, the sweet smell of humanity … and wet feet.

By the time we got to Phnom Penh I had officially decided Lara Croft can keep her tomb raining. But it was certainly an adventure to remember. We spent another very comparatively calm evening in Phnom Penh laughing about our luck on dry land. Of all the weekends to rain…it had to be that one. But you know what they say: It’s not the destination that counts, it’s the journey, and who you travel with!

p.s. Unfortunately I didn't take pics this weekend ... didn't need my camera floating away too. :(


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NEW PHOTOS

Yes, I've been terrible ... a summer of training new volunteers, a week in Takeo for a TEFL Conference, Camp GLOW, the City Beautification Project ..... and no photos. Here they are and a few extras to prove that even though I'm working hard, I'm still playing hard too! Highlights to look for: photos from my summer projects (GLOW in particular was a HUGE suggess), some beautiful ruins and a silk artisan's workshop at Phnom Chiso (Tara's site), and Tiffany, Rebecca, and my trip through the haunted house at the top of Sorya Mall ... yes, there's a haunted house in Phnom Penh. Yes we screamed like little girls. You would have too. ;) We also hit up the arcade. And most of you should know how I feel about arcades: pure love.

[To see more photos, check out my "Summer in the Bode" photo link on the right]




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August 3, 2009

Full Circle

One of the first things I noticed about Cambodia almost a year ago to date was the color of budding rice. The pale, bright green is startling and disarming. It’s one of those vivid hues that can only be found in nature and impossible to replicate with synthetic colors. As I rode the bus back to Pursat today, I stared out the window at that green. It feels like it was forever ago when I first saw that strange color, and yet in so many ways, I have come full circle.
When you’re sitting on a bus, staring out at Cambodia’s flat expanse behind the quiet safety of plate glass, the world seems peaceful and serene. But the minute you step off that bus, the bustling, noisy sights and smells of humanity are there waiting to jostle your senses. The throng of took-took and moto drivers crowd around you, grabbing your sleeves in aggressive attempts to get your attention. Barefoot children scramble over a low fence reeking with the sickly, sweet smell of piss to catch a glimpse of the foreigner, while wedding music competes with public service announcements blaring from a loudspeaker near by. At times, it can be overwhelming.

But today, when I stepped off that bus, I realized it was much easier to look beyond everything vying for my attention and seek out the one pair of fixed, familiar eyes waiting for me. I smiled as I found the took-took driver who knows where I live, loaded up my backpack and bags of goodies brought from Phnom Penh, and leaned back to enjoy the breezy ride to my host family’s house. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in the heavy air that’s a sure sign of rain, and realized I had finally found my place here.

I have integrated into the culture happily; finding joy in the exotic backdrop, vibrant family structure, and mysterious ancient history. It’s an adventure I needed to have, hardships I needed to face, and a leap I needed to take. My work is fulfilling. Summer has brought a wave of exciting projects from editing the TEFEL manual, to leading training sessions for the newest volunteers, and of course, my environmental awareness campaign and girls’ camp, that leave me feeling invigorated and productive. … Yet my work here also brings me face-to-face with those aspects of humanity that keep me from calling Cambodia my “home” the way I dubbed some of my favorite homes-away-from-home in the past. Although I long to pierce the darkness lingering in this country with my own blessings, I have a difficult time fixing my eyes too firmly on the darkest corners of humanity so flippantly accepted in this culture as a result of its troubled past.

While I was training the newest volunteers, I was amazed at how easily I could assure the girls they would learn to “let go” of being discriminated against because they are women, or explain to the boys that we all joke so casually about the heartbreaking reality of prostitution because, after a year, it’s the only thing you can do to keep from crying. I have made peace with the reality that I can not eradicate every injustice in this country – but that I can help my community take small steps towards finding their own way in the dark.

Yes, things have come full circle. I no longer feel like a trainee myself, tiptoeing around the culture in an effort to find an acceptable balance between my independent, bold identity as an American woman with my community’s expectations for me as a teacher and host-daughter. I can truly appreciate my host father’s sideways grin as we delight in finding a way to communicate through a mutt combination of English, French, and Khmer. And I can love Cambodia for all that it is, and all that it is not.

Like last year, that bright green will fade from my memory as the rice is harvested, just as this feeling of peaceful integration will be called into question as I face new challenges and navigate new cultural experiences in the upcoming year. But unlike last year, I know what to expect after the last of the monsoons have saturated the rice fields and the dry season washes the country with golden-orange dust.

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July 18, 2009

Zen and the Art of Bicycle Maintenance

Mike the Mechanic I’m not, and this afternoon’s – scenario – may have been my fault (read: haven’t put air in my tires/oiled my chain/any other form of bike maintenance since Christmas when I connived Dan into doing it for me…), but seriously people: how many barangs does it take to change a bike tire? Right. So, this morning I woke up and hauled myself into the “office,” a.k.a. my self-appointed folding table and plastic chair at SC, to do a little work. When I hopped on my trusty 24-speed to ride back for lunch, I noticed a strange schlump-schump sound coming from the back tire. I had the sickening sensation of déjà-vu as I realized it sounded exactly the way my car tire did when Gray, Lorraine, and I blew a flat on the way to Montreal … except there’s no AAA in this country.
At this point it was already 11:45, my wallet was at the house so I couldn’t make a pit stop to have it fixed, and it was at least 100 degrees. Did I mention I was hungry? That being said, I decided there was really nothing to do besides bike back and have some lunch. And a nap. And then worry about the bike tire. Biking with a flat turned what should have been a 10 minute ride into 30, and by the time I got back to the house I was literally dripping sweat. Dripping.

I camouflaged the bike in my host family’s bushes as not to attract attention and hurried upstairs for lunch. The thing is, I have a mountain bike. Most Cambodians – host family included – ride beach cruisers so anything with more than two gears is a great mystery. I'm not saying I know more about bike maintenance than your average Cambodian, but I'm skeptical sometimes … especially after the screws on my bike rack mysteriously “disappeared” while I was out of town one weekend, the batteries on my tail light have “fallen out” in their bike shed on more than one occasion, and almost all my pink streamers have been shredded due to excessive petting. When I finally pulled myself out of bed and away from my book, I knew I needed a plan. Peace Corps supplies us with all the necessary goodies to fix a flat, but I’ll be damned if I know what to do with them. I mean, do you know what to do to with a hexagon wrench and new bike tube? (Don’t answer that, Stephen).

As I swerved my way back across town, I had a brilliant idea. We have three 17 year old boys from Utah volunteering at SC for a few months. Time to in call the backup. Surely between the four of us we could figure this out. I frantically texted Scott and asked if he knew hot to fix a flat. A painful mile and a half later, we were standing in SC’s courtyard trying to figure out how to get the back wheel off. He was pretty sure his dad showed him how to do this once upon a time and I was pretty sure we learned this during Technical Training but you know, there really are an awful lot of pieces back there. Once the tire was off, we (and by “we” I mean Scott) realized I hadn’t brought the thing to loosen the rubber casing over the tubing. No, a hexagon wrench won’t do. Neither will a stick. Or my keys. We struggled for a good 25 minutes before we swallowed our pride and took it to the mechanic shop next door. I’d like to say our main reason for delay was because it was torrentially raining. It was torrentially raining, but I’m sure we all know better. Seriously, though, how difficult is changing a flat? (Again, don’t answer that, Stephen).

Naturally, the Cambodian fellow had the casing off, tubing out, new tubing in, tire inflated, and put back together in less than 3 minutes. Scott and I did manage to get the tire back on the bike ourselves (after some logistical confusion about exactly where the bike chain went), and inflated the front tire for good measure. All in all the whole process took up the better part of my early afternoon. I did contribute – albeit marginally – and think I’d be able to change a flat on my own in the future. Well, ok, I’ll probably just take it straight to the mechanic, but I’ll be all set as management material next time now that I know what the process should look like.

… And some of you thought I might actually be going native out here?? Har har.

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July 15, 2009

365 days down ... lots of adventures to go

My biggest fear for the summer was that I wouldn’t be busy enough. In case you’ve known me less than 10 minutes, let me just say: I love being busy. Actually, I need to be busy. In college, I could never have too much work + cheer practice + editors meetings + sorority functions + group projects … etc., etc., etc. I’ve always found I do my best work when I have just a second too little to finish what I needed to do. This is one problem I assure you I don’t have in Cambodia. A fifteen hour work week is generous for the average Cambodian, afternoon naps are a must, and what doesn’t get done today can always get done next month. In some ways, this has been great for my patience (a virtue I don’t possess) … and in some ways, it drives me right up the wall. When school officially ended a few weeks ago I seriously wondered how I would ever find enough work to keep me from going AWOL, but I’ve been surprised – and delighted – with how busy I actually am!

I’ve been spending most of my days preparing for my girls’ leadership camp, taking place August 7-9th. We finally secured funding for the project and have begun taking the next steps to get the ball rolling. Think program planning, t-shirt designs, and meetings with the Provincial Office of Education. There are a hundred and one details that need ironed out, but if that wasn’t enough to keep me out of trouble, I’ve also been continuing work on my students’ environmental awareness campaign. We are completing banners with inspirational proverbs promoting recycling and proper trash disposal this week. They will have eight signs in total that we will hang all over the busiest parts of town. It’s exciting to watch the students take such ownership of this project. They’ve all been logging extra hours to make sure the banners look good and stand out and I can’t wait to see the final results!

Outside of provincial life, Peace Corps hosted our official Mid-Service Training a few weeks ago in Phnom Penh. It was interesting to see where the other volunteers are at after all these months. Although we all struggle with the same challenges and work towards the same goal, we go about our mission in different ways. It was nice to hear about other projects, ideas, and insights into Cambodia – 12 months in. I’ll also be participating in several training session for the new K3 volunteers (arriving next week!?!?). I’m helping with their welcome session – can we say new blood? – as well as presenting some information on culture shock and how to cope with it. It’s a great honor to help with training and I’m really looking forward to the experience and meeting our 47 newest trainees.

As hard as I’ve been working, you know I’ve been playing hard too. It seems like summer has been a time for visitors and lots of reminiscing about where we all were last year. In case time has slipped away from you like it has from me, this time last year I was packing up and getting ready to ship myself overseas. Has it really been a year already? We couldn’t be hitting the one-year mark in better style though. Deidre’s twin came to visit for a few days at the end of June. Needless to say, the resemblance was uncanny and I all but freaked out seeing them together. Having known D for almost a year before meeting her twin, I really felt like I was stepping into the Twilight Zone. The girls and I celebrated America’s (and Deidre’s) birthday over 4th of July weekend with the usual Phnom Penh shenanigans, but it just wasn’t the same without an Altoona Curve game, Dad’s hamburgers, and fireworks at College Park. As if the month couldn’t get any better, my boyfriend Goy came to visit this past weekend. Since I already mentioned patience is not one of my virtues, you can imagine how long the past two months felt while waiting for his arrival. It was worth the wait though! We hit all Phnom Penh’s tourist attractions (he even got me to eat fried crickets. No futher comment, thank you.) and o.d.-ed on some much needed quality time together. Although I failed to convince him to “miss” his flight indefinitely and set up shop here in Pursat, we have lots of visits to look forward to in the near future so, thankfully, it wasn’t really goodbye.

I’d also like to send out my respects for Stephen’s father, who passed away this past weekend. You both have been in my thoughts and prayers a great deal this month, and even though I am far away, I think of you often. All my love and support are here for you.

More updates to come - but until next time, as Dad would say: be safe, be kind. Hope to hear from you all soon!


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President Obama appoints Aaron Williams as new Director of PC

We have a new director of the Peace Corps organization! Check out the White House press release here.


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June 5, 2009

"Beautiful City, Beautiful Life"

As part of international Environmental Awareness Week I asked the students in my private class to work in pairs and come up with a project to help solve an environmental issue in Pursat. Each team presented their plan to the group and then we voted on the best one. Prizes were involved, of course! After a full week of project planning and much agonizing deliberation about which team’s idea was most realistic and helpful, we finally settled on “Beautiful City, Beautiful Life,” by Visa and Lehoung (that’s them in the photo).

All the students agree that “rubbish,” as they call it with their quirky half-Khmer, half-British accents, is the biggest problem in our town. To address this issue, Visa and Lehoung proposed that students at SC form an Environment Club that will run for the duration of summer. To kick off the club, we will host an awareness campaign and “bring-a-buddy” trash pick-up day. Over the course of the next week or so, we will take pictures of trash and pollution in town and use these images to create posters featuring stats and facts about the importance of proper trash disposal, composting techniques, and recycling. The club members will use these posters to give a presentation to the local community before we all head down to the river to clean up the area.

The club’s next goal is to create three trash bins for especially polluted areas around town. We are currently fundraising 60,000rh (that’s the equivalent of $15.00) to buy bamboo from the surrounding villages and soliciting donations for nails and hammers. I am impressed with the students’ initiative and passion about the issue and am looking forward to a very GREEN summer!

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May 23, 2009

Dirty Does Cambodia

After nine months, I finally had my first visitor from the States! My brother and I had been planning this trip since I found out I was coming to Cambodia, so you can imagine how excited I was to finally put it into action. Steve (and one of his fratty friends who served about 6 years ago) was a big part of the reason I decided to apply for the Peace Corps in the first place, so it’s fitting that he be the first to experience the ‘Bode. … and did he ever.

Since Steve was only going to be in-country for about a week, we didn’t waste any time. I was at the airport to welcome him at 9:00AM sharp with an embarrassingly large sign à la Jim and Jan Kimmel. Once we said our hellos, we headed straight to the hotel, got settled, and then hit a few of the main tourist attractions in Phnom Penh. Truth be told, they were pretty weak as far as tourist traps go – but we made up for it later. As per the usual Phnom Penh routine, all the volunteers in town got together for a night on the town later that evening. On Tara and Tiffany’s recommendation, we decided to check out Nagaworld Casino. Nagaworld is probably one of the swankiest places in Phnom Penh: you can’t get in unless you roll up in a Lexus (or are a local celebrity, like we are … riiight). The casino itself is the same as what you’d find in Vegas or Atlantic City, except that AC and free drinks are actually a rare perk here in Cambodia. Once we all lost our week’s worth of salaries, we headed to dinner at a great little Italian café along the riverfront, followed by a guitar jam session at the hookah bar next door and, of course, dancing at Pontoon. I’m still surprised that Steve powered through those 24 hours without the slightest sign of jet lag … maybe the girls and I should induct him as an honorary champ after all.

The next morning, we took the bus to my site so Stephen could get a feel for my daily life. After meeting my host family, he took the grand tour of the school and NGO I volunteer at before we continued up to Battambang for the evening. It was really surreal having someone from home finally see my life here. For almost a year, I’ve created a “new” life – new routine, new place, new job, new friends – that are pretty much separate from who I am in the States. That’s not to say I’m somehow different here than I am at home (except perhaps, being better dressed in the States) … but it was still strange to watch someone experiencing what I’ve been describing from halfway across the globe in person. It was like my two lives were finally meeting and shaking hands. Yeah, corny metaphor, but I think you see my point.

Now, the reason we needed to head to Battambang that evening was so we could catch the “fast ferry” up the Tonle Sap River to Siem Reap early the next morning. In theory this seemed like a great cultural experience. We were told that the fast ferry would leave around 7:00AM and take roughly four hours. Perfect: not only would Steve get to see traditional life on the river, but we’d actually be making better time on the boat than if we took a bus. The first hour of the trip was fantastic. Sure it was a little cramped (I mean, how can you fit 40 Westerners on a tiny Khami junk and not be cramped?), sure the seats were uncomfortable, and sure the few Cambodian passengers were cranky because we were taking up too much space … but who doesn’t love being out on (semi) open water at 7:00AM? Around 10:30AM, we stopped at a floating rest-stop. And by rest-stop, I mean a tiny raft with a snack vendor and gasoline for sale in old Johnny Walker bottles. At this point, I figured we could only have another hour left at most, so I was a little surprised that we were stopping at all. Steve suggested that I ask our driver when we’d be arriving just in case. After assuring him that we'd definitely be there in an hour, I decided to ask anyway. The conversation went something like this:

Me: So, when do you think we’ll get to Siem Reap?
Driver: Maybe around two.
Random bystander: No, probably more like three.
Driver: Ok, between two and three.
Me: You mean in two hours, right?? ... not at two o'clock?
Driver: No, I mean two or three o’clock.
Me: ……… oh …. oh, I see.

… so much for the four hour water taxi. Eight hours later, we finally arrived in Siem Reap. Needless to say, I was never happier to get off a boat in my life.

Once we regained feeling in our legs, we hailed a took-took to take us to our guesthouse. We didn’t have any specific plans for the afternoon other than meeting up with some other volunteers for a late dinner. That gave us just enough time to nap (incredible how sitting and doing nothing on a boat all day can take it out of you), shower, and pull ourselves together before we headed out. Good food with good friends was the perfect end to our day. After we hit the Blue Pumpkin for some of the best ice cream in the Bode, we called it an early night so we’d be ready to conquer the temples the next day.

As some of you may know, Steve’s birthday is in April. For something a little different than the usual gift ideas, I splurged on a helicopter ride over the temple complex. At 10:00AM we lifted off! I’ve never been in a helicopter, so I was like a wide-eyed little girl the whole time. Steve loved it too, and I don’t think we could have started our day any better. Our pilot gave us a little overview of the temples and some history of the area and then we headed off to see everything in person. There are tons of temples in the Angkor complex, but we only chose three: we started out with Bayon (famous for its giant stone faces), then visited the temple where Tomb Raider was filmed – also famous for the ancient fichus trees literally crawling all over the temple structure, and finished with the iconic Angkor Wat. The temples were massive and we could actually crawl through the stones in many of them, making me feel like maybe we really were tomb raiders. Standing inside these incredible structures is, for lack of a less cliché term, awe-inspiring to say the least. Even so, by the end of the afternoon, we were officially templed-out. We headed back to the hotel, cleaned up and hit the new Mexican restaurant in town. You all know how I feel about Mexican, so I’ll spare you the details – but it definitely gives Viva! a run for its money!

The next day we met our took-took driver from the day before, who had developed a serious man-crush on Stephen (think thigh-grabbing and heavy petting), to take us to the Kulen mountain ranges where there are several 45ft waterfalls. And, yes, ladies and gentlemen, you can swim right in the spray at the base of the falls. On top of that, we were the only people swimming at the base, so it felt like we owned the place. Getting there was a little bit of a trek, but the experience was so worth it. I’m not sure who loved it more – us, or our driver – but the whole day was by far one of the coolest things I’ve done in Cambodia to date. When we finally got back to civilization, we enjoyed our last night on the town (complete with Apsara dancing and a city-wide power outage – see, I told you he got the full experience).

The trip went by way too fast, but it was one for the records. As always, he came. He saw. He conquered.


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May 7, 2009

Making Headlines

Check out this article on the Habitat for Humanity website for more info about our build. You can also read about the Jimmy Carter blitz build taking place in November that I hope to be a part of. Keep your fingers crossed that Water Festival falls on those dates!
p.s. pics from Malaysia and Habitat are up on facebook and under my "Six Months Plus" photos. Enjoy!

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May 4, 2009

Habitat for Humanity Build

Picture me in a hard hat. Ok – good. Now picture me laying bricks. Still with me? How about me climbing on scaffolding? Yeah, I know – I probably lost you all the way back at the hard hat. But I swear it’s all true! Fifteen volunteers and I joined up with Habitat for Humanity for a week to build a community center for homeless Cambodians in Oudong province. This project was actually a test run to generate excitement for a huge blitz-build that will take place in November. The next goal: 21 houses in one week! Depending on my school schedule, I hope to participate in the second build because this past week was so incredibly rewarding.

We all piled into a guest house on Sunday night – not really sure what to expect for Monday morning. We knew we’d be working alongside the local community, for the community, but none of us had any construction experience and many of the volunteers actually thought I was serious when I jokingly asked if you could plug in a hammer. Oh boy.


Orientation on our first day consisted of a brief “how-to” on laying bricks before we were thrown into the action. My three-person team was in charge of laying the bricks on the Western wall of the center. Despite the scorching heat and long hours, the day passed super fast. I felt like I had learned a real skill and was using it to do something meaningful and lasting.

Day two we continued to work on our wall … this time on scaffolding. I dropped a re-bar on Tara’s head, but luckily she had a hard hat on and that was my only really spaztastic moment. Of course, the real secret to our dream team was Rebecca. That girl can BUILD. She was one of the few people who had a working knowledge of this sort of thing (grace à her father) and it showed.

We continued on to help install the doors and windows, which resulted in a minor catastrophe because the window and door fixtures were the wrong size so we had to do some improvising to get everything to fit. Aside from that, things were really shaping up and we were all having a blast doing it. Nothing like working under a blue sky and big sun to make you feel alive.


By day four I’d had my fill of brick laying and crack filling, so I switched over to the “management crew” while a few other volunteers raised the roof and plastered it into place. We weren’t allowed to help with the roof itself due to liability, so we cleared out all the renegade bricks from the site and organized the remaining materials. This was more interesting than it sounds – if for no other reason than there is tons of wild life that likes to hide in the brick piles. Hopping mice, frogs, snakes eating the frogs, scorpions … you name it.


On our last day, we finished the community center, cleaned it up, and prepped for the dedication ceremony in the morning. The families arrived after lunch all smiles. After a few speeches, we turned them loose to enjoy the building. Seeing the gratitude on the families’ faces, letting their children crawl all over me in excitement, and participating in an impromptu dance party right there at site (that’s how excited everyone was) was beyond touching.
These families live on a garbage dump site that is closing down, so they will be loosing the meager homes that they have. To them, this isn’t just a simple building, but a new life. And being part of that is something I will carry with me forever.


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Gettin Out of Dodge!

After literally counting down the days until April 10th for more than a month, Dan, Deidre, Tara and I finally boarded our plane for Malaysia. This was, of course, after my traditional stop at the DQ inside the terminal. Before going, I didn’t know much about Malaysia other than the fact that it wasn’t Cambodia. And that was enough for me. We arrived in Kuala Lumpur late that evening; leaving us just enough time to shuttle into the city, find the seediest hostel around, and grab our first of many Indian meals to kick off one of the best vacations I’ve ever had. Our plan was to head up to the Cameron Highlands the next day to visit some tea plantations and do a little jungle trekking. After that, we hit KL for a few more days before flying into Singapore to get our fill of the cities. We visited Kota Kinabalu for some sun and scuba on the surrounding islands. We planned to head to Mount Kinabalu to do some hiking but somewhere along the way, Tara and I decided to return to Singapore while Dan and Deidre conquered the mountain. For those of you who know me well, it should come as no surprise that I opted for a few more days of shopping and city hopping over hiking. Some things will never change I guess … even after nine months in the sticks!

Malaysia and Singapore are about as different from Cambodia as you get. Aside from the fact that they’re all in South-East Asia, I’d say they don’t share much in common. Malaysia has a stronger Indian and Muslim influence that gives it a lot of its character. Singapore is a utopia of high gloss shine, culture, and order. Both places have embraced Western culture in a way that made me feel right at home, without loosing their own uniqueness. Ok, on to my trip …

The Cameron Highlands are a five hour bus ride from Kaula Lumpur, up a winding mountain road that rivals the insanity of the Amalfi Coast. We stayed in a sleepy little village where we could o.d. on E! TV at our hostel, catch a cheap massage at the local spa, and continue or tour de force of Indian food. Actually, we spent most of our time in the Highlands hopping from one delicious meal to the next. Aside from the Indian food, we were surrounded by three tea plantations (each with their own assortment of homemade scones and pastries to accompany their tea), several strawberry farms where you could pick your own berries or any strawberry confection you could dream of, and an apiary – because tea and scones clearly wouldn’t be complete without a little honey. When we weren’t feeding our inner-epicureans (literally), we explored the surrounding rain forest and waterfalls. The tea plantations were by far my favorite part though. The Boh plantation is made up of 1,200 hectors of terraced and manicured tea plants, all of which are harvested every 15 days. The work that goes into making tea is astonishing, but to work at a place with that kind of view is probably worth its weight in tea leaves.

Coming from Cambodia to the Highlands wasn’t too much of a shock. Sure the Highlands were cleaner, people were driving on the proper side of the road, and no one was yelling or staring at us … but the town that we stayed in had a lot of the same rustic charm as the Bode. Kuala Lumpur blew it all out of the water. One of the first things on our agenda was to catch a movie (at a REAL theater) and do a little shopping for new ‘going-out’ outfits so we could hit the town without looking like a bunch of dirty Peace Corps Volunteers. Walking into the Pavilion shopping center was like releasing three caged animals back into the wild. I say three because while Tara, Deidre and I stalked the shelves for heels, bags, and dresses, Dan dutifully endured our shopping extravaganza in a way I didn’t know grown men were capable of…he even let us drag him along to see “He’s Just Not That Into You.” We did all the requisite sight seeing of the KL needle and Petronas Towers on our second day (although we never made it to the observation deck because we got distracted by the shopping center on the ground floor). That evening we were all in our best form. We went out to dinner at Outback Steakhouse and then to a fabulous club where we made friends with half the bar staff and partied until the sun came up. Now, I know what you’re thinking: why would you go all the way to Malaysia to eat at Outback. But let me tell you what, after nine months of white rice and paddy fish, that steak never tasted so good. Trust me on this one.

We spent our first full day in Singapore at the Disneyland of beaches. It’s an entirely man-made beach island right off the city’s coast, complete with theme attractions and plenty of places to spend your money. In fairness, Sentosa Island is absolutely beautiful and would actually be a lot of fun if you went knowing what it was, but we were looking for a more laid-back vibe. Sentosa Island was recommended to us by one of the staff members at our hostel, who, interestingly, also recommended Attica – the Disneyland of clubs – to us for our first night out. After strike two we decided we should find a new resource.

Always the classy bunch, the four of us decided to head to the famous Raffles Hotel for Singapore Slings and peanuts (the rest of the menu was a little out of our budget) and Tara and I eventually found our club of choice. We claimed the Butter Factory as our late-night headquarters and embarked on another night of adventures … this time involving some slap-happy Cubans and an editor of Playboy magazine to name a few of the cast of characters. On our way out we snagged two of the bouncers who promised to show us the “real Singapore.” A bowl of noodles later and a few hours of chatting, the sun was coming up, but we weren’t ready to call it a day yet – so we headed to the East Coast beach where we all went swimming and watched the sun rise. We spent the next day hanging out with them and enjoying a totally relaxing day in Singapore. Perfect. I should also mention that we met up with two other volunteers who were also traveling through Malaysia and we all agreed we should move our office to Singapore and call it a day.

Needless to say, when it was time to head to our next destination, I was a little reluctant to leave. Kota Kinabalu was worth it though. Every day was a perfect day at the beach --all teal water and white sand. One of the days, Tara and I also went scuba diving. Our salty scuba instructor insisted we hold hands the whole time and regaled us with the story of how he woke one day and decided to flush his IT job down the drain for a life on the high seas. We have aptly startled referring to him as Captain Jack Sparrow. Although we didn’t dive too deep, we saw some great stuff: brilliant coral, a baby sea turtle, and a giant school of mirror-like fish that surrounded us and nibbled on our fingers and swam through our hair. We had dinner on the water and shot the breeze while listening to the waves break on the jetty that night … the perfect end to the perfect day. That was before Dan decided to take us on a - how should we say - "detour" on our way back to the hostel because he didn’t want to ask for directions. See, I knew it was only a matter of time after that shopping trip before he showed his true colors as a member of the male species!

Now, Kota Kinabalu was great, buuut Tara and I really wanted a few more days in Singapore and I was secretly (ok, maybe not so secretly) beginning to remember that in my heart of hearts, as much as I wish I could say I love hiking, I just don’t … and the next part of our journey had us heading straight to Mount Kinabalu for just that. By a stroke of luck, Tara and I found a flight back to Singapore for under $30 – at the point, we figured it was meant to be. So off we went for Singapore: Round 2. We spent our remaining days with the guys – even though they did throw off our one and only plan to get to the zoo!

By the time we said goodbye for the second time, I was fairly certain I’d hit a depression the minute we got back to the Bode. Our “home coming” to Phnom Pehn was less than ideal … but a good Indian meal and a major reminiscing session kept us sane!

…. So, when do I get to go back?


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March 27, 2009

Rant of the Week: Cheating

For the most part, I think I’ve dealt with differences between Cambodian and American culture pretty well. You know what they say though, “it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks,” and I often need to remind myself of the maxim I give Cambodians when they find my own behavior confusing: it’s not wrong, just different. I’d like to say I’m a big enough person to look beyond all those differences, and despite the fact that I know the best policy is just to shrug, laugh and say, “only in the ‘bode!” , there are times when that’s much easier said than done. Who would have guessed the 12th Grade Exams might be my limit???

I could make a list of the countless things that seem rude, troublesome, or frustrating about Cambodia but, believe me, the other volunteers and I have vented enough to know that doesn’t really help. It doesn’t change those things, and it certainly doesn’t help me get over them beyond the momentary relief of knowing I’m not alone in these feelings. There is, however, one thing I just can’t deal with. Cheating.

It’s not rare to see teachers accepting bribes from their students, withholding information in class to ensure students attend their private (no need to add: lucrative) private sessions, or allowing students to copy from one another or their books. I’ve spent hours discussing this problem with my co-teachers, and countless additional hours trying to figure out how a culture that puts so much emphasis on not “loosing face” in front of one’s peers can allow such blatantly dishonorable behavior.

In my own classes, I’ve tried to enforce a strict “NO CHEATING” policy. My co-teachers humor me in this when I’m present, but do nothing of their own volition to support it. For example, during a test I caught two of my students copying from one another. I asked them to stop and when they refused, I walked up to their desks and tried to take their pens from them. They actually wouldn’t let go and attempted to wrestle the pens away from me. Yes, wrestle. Meanwhile, my co-teacher stood by watching this train wreck with no indication that he cared in the slightest. Dare I say he probably secretly thought it was funny? I know I would have, if it hadn't been me.

I’ve yelled, given zeros, appealed to reason, tried to rally the school director ... all to no avail. In fact, my co-teachers now discourage me from attending test days at all because this is clearly a lost cause in their minds and it only makes me upset. They tell me, “Cambodia is a developing country and no one cares,” or they laugh the way they always do when met with an uncomfortable confrontation.

This week was the 12th Grade Exams. That means no other classes were in session (ironically, to prevent cheating and outside disturbance). After 5 days of sitting around my house doing next to nothing, I jumped on the opportunity to help the English department grade the exams. Needless to say, I wasn’t asked to proctor any of these exams -- lest I should actually insist that the students do their own work.

This morning I arrived at the school promptly at 7:30 to begin grading. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Happy and snappy. Ready to roll. I sat down, got out my little red pen, and graded the first exam. Now for the second. The test answers were identical. Including the essay. I asked the teachers what I should do since it was so clear the students had cheated. They said I could decide. When I reminded them that I would give both students zeros, they countered, saying it was only 100% clear that the students had cheated on the essay section – and even that was contestable because they could have been copying from a book, in which case, it wasn’t the students’ fault for cheating, but the proctor's fault for not catching them. They all
happily agreed I could take off one point from the essay portion, and went on with their own work. Gee, glad we got that settled.

Deep breaths, Kimmel
, deep breaths. I swallowed my anger and moved on to the next exam ... but as I began to see more and more answer patterns emerging and realized that not a SINGLE student had written an original essay, which asked students to describe a funeral they’d attended, I felt like I was enabling the system. I kid you not: 53 tests in, and I had only seen four variations to the essay answer. What? Did they all attend the same funeral? Puh-lease. Great men from Edward Burke to the Caped Crusader would agree with me on this -- by standing by and grading the work as if nothing were wrong, I was indirectly supporting the problem. But what could I do? I tried to bring up the issue a few more times during the morning, hoping to reach some consensus about how to deal with the cheating, but each time I was met with the same excuses.

... When they asked me if I’d come back after lunch to continue helping, I politely declined.


Ask any K1s or K2s, and they’ll probably tell you a similar story. Even the Ministry of Education has admitted that cheating is both pervasive and problematic in Cambodia, yet no one will stand firmly against it. It makes me ask the dangerous question: how can I help a country that won’t help itself? As many of you know, this is a question I often struggle with. Yes, I see progress in my students. Yes, I know change has to start somewhere. Yes, some things are just different here. And yes, I realize falling into some existentialist slump about the whole thing doesn’t help anyone ... but that doesn’t make moments like these any easier to swallow.

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March 23, 2009

HIV/AIDS Awareness Week

This past week I hosted an HIV/AIDS Awareness Week at my school. It didn’t turn out the way I expected, but it was a huge success all in all. It was especially meaningful for me because it’s the first major project I pulled off without any Peace Corps support. Originally, I planned to show the BBC mini-drama “Palace of Dreams” (a Cambodian film about a love-triangle and their experiences with AIDS) via big screen projector in the courtyard of our school, followed by a Q&A session and prizes. As it turns out, we couldn’t get a projector, so we had hosted three workshops where we showed the video on t.v.s in some empty classrooms instead.

Our target goal was to reach out to 200 students and we had 181 participants. Considering my classes of 50 regularly only have 20-25 students, getting this close to our target was a success in itself. We began each session by asking students to identify facts and myths about HIV/AIDS to assess what they already knew. Then, my co-teachers, Chyworn and Mao, and I presented basic facts about the disease. The students had a ton of questions and were really engaged in the discussions. Next, we played the video and followed up with a few questions and prizes.

Now, it wouldn’t be a “successful” project in Cambodia if you didn’t run into some major problems along the way. Like the power going out half way through the video in one session and the DVD breaking in another. Luckily, I was able to get another copy of the video from one of the other volunteers in my province and the power never stays out for TOO long.

My school director was very excited to host the program because the Ministry of Education asks that all state sponsored schools teach basic health information, particularly focusing on HIV/AIDS, but many schools don’t have the manpower to host these types of workshops. I’ll admit, my co-teachers were a little reluctant to commit to the extra work, but I think they were pleased with the enthusiasm of the students. It’s hard not to walk away from excited students and not feel good about what you just accomplished.

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