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.
Click Here to Read More..
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?
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. :(
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]
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.
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.
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!
We have a new director of the Peace Corps organization! Check out the White House press release here.
