When the West Cracks It Walks Away

So today during my lunch hour I decided to skip out on the usual Chinese place next to my office building. The Chinese place is excellent and has turned into my office cafeteria.  At $1.50 for veggie dumpling soup, tea, rice, and watermelon, who wouldn't do the same? 

Today though, I kept walking and headed over to Sorya, Phnom Penh's largest mall to buy some muesli, toothpaste and toothbrush at Lucky Supermarket and indulge myself in a lunch made entirely out of chocolate and vanilla ice cream.  Why not?  We only live once and I had sweated probably the equivalent amount of fat this morning biking to the bank and to work.  I sat down at Swensen's ice cream parlor inside the cool mall, and promptly picked out the brownie ice cream "tower".   It's Cambodia.  It was a small tower.  Even though there were only four bite-size brownies, a large chocolate-covered cherry topped my delicious treat, and I settled in to enjoy my sweet lunch when all of a sudden an obnoxious Australian accent thundered from the table next to mine, "Give me the menu! I come here every f***ing day and you can't give me the f***ing menu!!!" I turned to find myself staring at an ugly, overweight Australian man wearing a black bandanna, black tee-shirt, shorts and a mean scowl.  All the foreigners stared at him as well, the other men directing comments towards him along the lines of "Give it up man. There are ladies present here."  Whatever.  My female status has nothing to do with this large piece of lard who has clearly had an I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF CAMBODIA day. He's cracked as easily as my chocolate Swensen cracker.  As usual I want to say something like, "Dude, chill-ax," but I'm more concerned by the lack of reaction by the pretty Cambodian waitresses and the Cambodian male manager behind the counter.  They simply stare back at Mr. Ice-Cream Everyday, still smiling, handing him the menu while he basically chews their heads off.   

Mr. Ice-Cream Everyday gets up and mutters, "I've had enough " then storms off in the direction of the Lucky 7 ice cream counter, which is cheaper anyways.  

What has he had enough off?  The heat?  The lack of initiative taken by Cambodians presented in the simple mistake of not handing him a menu? Perhaps his Cambodian mistress found a new lover today or he just found out he won't be able to "invest in the development of Cambodia" because the tourism industry is down. Whatever the cause, that sun-burnt old man had had enough of life today and walked away.  

If only the Cambodian public could do the same with the Western abuse and misuse of their people and country.  If only they could walk away and say no to the dependency on Western tourism, governments, businesses, or those who take advantage of their "situation."

I lick the last bits of chocolate off my spoon and vow never to crack.  For if I crack, I will have failed as a person searching for a bit of humility in a new place.

An elephant that wears shoes?

I look up from my 900-page book and at that very moment I catch a glimpse of Sambo, Phnom Penh’s pet totem elephant parading down along the riverside on Sisowath Quay. No doubt he is making his way over to his next engagement, where he’ll make an appearance to the delight of surprised guests and where children will sit upon the red cloth draped across his tough wrinkled back.  The animal is booked solid with appointments for the remainder of the year, so I’ve been told. The fury of motos, cyclos, tuk-tuks and occasional black and gold Lexus SUVs driving past, go unnoticed, both by the giant and his guardian dressed in a red ripped shirt, ragged shorts and chequered krama trailing behind.  The moment lasted only seconds, not long enough for me to pull out my new camera and capture the scene.  I’m struck by the juxtaposition of it all.  An elephant—mind you, one wearing wooden-crafted shoes— trudging down a busy main street, seems normal to me, yet I want to giggle with joy at the silliness of what I have just witnessed.  I try to imagine a similar moment occurring back home in the northern Chicago suburb of Vernon Hills.  My parents sitting around a coffee table at the local Starbucks looking through travel books, my brothers and I browsing through National Geographic, Entertainment! Or The Economist and all of a sudden an elephant parades through the parking lot parallel to Route 60.  No doubt my mother would be quicker with her Canon camera, Papi would make a joke about the elephant’s social life, and my brothers and I would make up some story, complete with animated voices, about a monkey riding on Señor Sambo.  The thought of this makes me smile, but by now the elephant has passed by the double glass doors of the café I sit in and I’m left staring out at the dreary construction wall that blocks the view to the Tonle Sap River.

On Business in Asia (well, at least Cambodge)

Highlights from my dinner last night with the company's vice chairman at a Japanese restaurant:

(Hot) Sake, Sake, Sushi, Sake, Sake, Sushi, Sake, Edamame, Edamame, Edamame, okay more Sake, "Yes I'm Mexican but I don't do Tequila," Sake, Tuna rolls, THANK GOD TEA, "One Tiny Cambodian Girl can drink whole litre of Sake" (gesticulating towards pitcher) "I'm not Cambodian.", Cabbage, Edamame (man I do love Edamame), Sake, rice, rice, rice (I'm getting better at picking up rice with chopsticks), Miso soup (umm this is dessert??), and one more shot of Sake for good measure.

I should throw in there a couple of blonde jokes, Vietnamese jokes, and crude macho-Cambodian jokes as well, and an invitation to Karaoke room 154 at the nightclub (personal invite for my colleagues and I from the owner), but I can't remember them. We graciously thanked them, but passed.  A bar full of foreigners and no sake awaited for us back on St. 278.

Good business meeting though. We can now film an environmental documentary on life along the Mekong River and I've been invited to the Vice Chairman's hotel and Casino along the border.  I may take him up on the offer since it has a pool. 

Ah cross-cultural business negotiations... Mom, as a cross-cultural counselor, keep doing your job please.

On a semi-related note, they knew what Irish Car Bombs were and explained what a Sake bomb was. Having had my bomb and sake education on one occasion during Diana's birthday in O'Neil (Notre Dame boy's dorm) and at Mikada's (I think that was the name of that sketchy South Bend restaurant infamous to all college freshmen ? ), I was a pro.

A Little Taste of Vietnam

 I went to Vietnam last Sunday.  Apparently one has to leave Cambodia after the second visa is issued in order to change visa status (I need a long term Business work visa/permit) so on June 10th my little extended tourist visa was up and I was an illegal for 4 days until I crossed over into Vietnam.

My boss decided that the best way for me to cross over was to join her son, Scott and his friend, Neal on their mini-trip to Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) for a two day adventure without having to forgo vacation days.  So, Sunday morning we met up at Lucky Supermarket and headed over to the bus station where we were surprisingly greeted by a very nice comfortable bus advertising "LCD/AIRCON/TOILET!"  All our bases were covered.  No problems during the bus ride at all- we swerved around cows, trucks, motorbikes, and kids on bicycles in the just in nick of time as usual, all while having Vietnamese/Cambodian/Japanese music videos blasting in our ears.  At the Cambodian border the guard looked at my Passport Visa and said "You Overstay. 4 Days. 40 Dollar." To which I responded, " Yes I overstayed, $5 dollar fine per day x 4 days = $20 dollars." Response: "Okay, Okay." And then I proceeded to wait an eternity and make the whole bus wait while they created a receipt for me.  

Having left Phnom Penh at 1:30pm, we finally arrived in HCMC around 7:30pm.  As the bus rumbled down the well-paved streets, I looked out the window in wonder at all the bright lights and millions of motos, more than I had ever seen in Phnom Penh, race past.  I had entered the second world.  

Left to fend for ourselves in the toursity/backpacker area, we were quickly spotted as foreigners and some guy took us to a nice cheap hotel close by. We dropped of our bags and headed out to eat some Pho something or other, i.e. noodles with veggies,  ice

cream and drinks. Exhausted by the long ride, we called it a night and the next morning awoke bright and early for some breakfast and Vietnamese coffee (condensed milk + coffee + ice = what they drink in heaven), before heading out on our one-day excursion of the city.

Armed against the heat with water bottles in hand, we marched off to the War Remnants Museum, which pays tribute to the victims of the Vietnam War and is really quite disturbing. 

American army vehicles and artillery as well as images and photographs from the war of the soldiers and victims intoxicated by Agent Orange and such chemicals, bring 

to life the monstrous side-effects of modern warfare.

I was left speechless and heartbroken, especially since the children of this war live amongst us in Cambodia and Vietnam, often without limbs, physical deformations, and skin diseases.  

 

Afterwards we continued on our own walking tour, admiring all the garbage cans and park areas (heavily lacking in Phnom Penh) and stopped in front of the government palace for a quick picture before resting at Au Parc, nice little french bistro for a cool drink. 

Scott had his like, third coffee of the day and I chose a mint/passion fruit juice which is a testament that he drank more coffee than I did on that trip.  We then walked around a bit more to the Cathedral...

WAIT, WAIT... The NOTRE DAME Cathedral (outside is pretty, but does not even compare with ND's Basilica) and the Central Post Office. Architecturally speaking, both were gorgeous but were ruined by the string of dumbstruck tourists standing about.  Admittedly, it was weird to even see a Cathedral and just as weird to be in the post office where they had these like, wooden telephone booths that had a British air to them.  

Next, it was off to the Cho Beng Than Market were we picked out some trinkets and gifts while we waited for the afternoon deluge to subside.  I bought a stuffed monkey. And a purse. And some colorful bowls that I will never use to cook so I don't even know why I bought them. They're really cute though, but I like the monkey the best.  It was fun to haggle in a currency

 where $1 USD is worth $16-18,000 VND give or take.  While I was haggling for some

 bookmarks some Asian tourist punched into his calculator $100,000 and pointed at me.  I turned gave him a big smile and said "priceless."Ah at least I can make people laugh.  He didn't take me home for the record.

Once the rains died down we trekked back to our hotel, rested a bit, grabbed so

me lunch and continued to meander about the city.  I felt like I was on a shopping spree- havin

g found a modern city with cheap clothing stores where I could find a good pair of jeans (I didn't bring a pair from home) that actually fit, a dress, and a shirt. No wonder people leave Cambodia with empty bags... It's for all the stuff you can't seem to find in Cambodia or you can, but

 cheaper and/or higher quality.  Cambodia is cheap too, but it is one of the poorest countries in SE Asia and usually things are out-dated (including foodstuff in good supermarkets).

After dinner we walked around trying to find an area outside of the tourist bar scene to go out in... this didn't worked as planned so we grabbed a taxi and told him to take us to a bar.  I had to clarify to a bar where "a lady" could go in.    Naturally, he dropped us of at "Fashion TV".

No joke.  A woman greeted us in French, asked us if we were French, was semi-disappointed at the response, but escorted us anyways into a super loud dark (empty) night club, to which we quickly backed out and motioned our preference for the quiet (full) lounge next to it, where I could catch the end of the controversial Brazil-Egypt WC qualifier.  Soccer + Mojito + good company = a good way to end the night.  

Tuesday morning we had one last breakfast and Vietnamese coffee for good measure before packing up and heading out on the bus again.  Surprisingly, no music videos this time... just quality Japanese action film all dubbed in Khmer, and by dubbed I mean that a woman or man would speak in monotone voice during the entire film, reading the script for all genders and characters.  

No problems with border crossing and obtaining visa status "E" for me, but the boys were held up because they only had single entry Cambodian visas. While the bus conductor and his pal talked with the border guys and pulled out $40 bucks for to lend the guys (no ATMS but plenty of Casinos across the border in Cambodia) I was ushered through border security, and then proceeded to make friends the border lieutenant (female) who took out her

mobile phone and played a video of her little baby. By the end of the whole wait we were BBFFs (best friends forever) especially since I it was my "Third Visa Cambodia! Good!"  Yes, my passport is now bulging with visas, stamps, and extra pages.

Overall, 2 gentlemen for travel companions + amazing coffee= excellent trip.  I need to return to Vietnam for a longer stint, hopefully make it up to Hanoi and Ha Long Bay where it is truly gorgeous, and maybe then it'll be okay for me to call it " 'Nam".

Two final notes: 

1. Yesterday I went to get my hair cut and highlighted.  The total price was $30 and at one point in time I had 5 people working on me. No joke.  Either I have too much hair or the Cambodians really know how to make you feel special.

2. Can we say, camera? Canon D10, I love you.

"It is the Cambodian Way!"

Let’s see, what have I been up to?  Well, I started work last week, so I’ve spent my time researching international documentary film festivals and respective film markets, in addition to dealing with what one would presume would be the simple task of setting up an office: obtaining desk, chair, internet, having carpet ripped out and replaced by tiles, air conditioning, getting rid of cables strewn across balcony so as to impede possible accidental death, business cards and long-term residence permit and business visa. 

 

The most interesting occurrence at work so far, aside from receiving 5 boxes of 100 count business cards that are a dark blue-purple and have lightning flashes across the company title and a white, spot-light like effect flashing down across my name with small print below claiming, “Proud to be Cambodian!”  (Clearly the fact that our parent company owns one night club that does happen to shine spot lights up across the city every night takes precedence over the actual work of media production), was our 2 hour staff meeting, which of course I will not go into detail, but I will compare to a kindergarten class in which our local staff learns the ABCs of documentary film making, namely, the point is it is okay to ask questions and no, they won’t have to personally pay for the equipment if for some reason the camera is taken away by the police.  I live in culture of fear my friends, and one in which questions have never been asked and blame has always been handed over to the superior.  “It is, the Cambodian Way,” as my co-workers will say to anything.  Documentary filmmaking doesn’t have time for paying bribes and “getting to know” interviewees that refuse to be interviewed, like guilty policemen.  Before my boss came in, no one bothered to ask the staff what they thought or how they felt, now they are much happier and questions are asked all the time. Things are moving, perhaps not at the western-pace yet, but it’s great to be a part of the education and transformation of what is supposed to be a “professional” environment.

 

Friday night I went to a “rave” at the old Phnom Penh railway station.  Personal opinion: it was not a rave, just bad techno-y music and the largest concentration of foreigners I have seen thus far in Cambodia.  Sadly, I went home somewhat earlier at 2 am since I do work SATURDAYS.  Yes.  Monday-Saturday.  In the private sector in Cambodia, that is the Cambodian Way.  Henceforth, I reserve all rights to complain about long workweeks. 

 

Saturday I had the most delicious mini-hamburgers, potatoes and mango crepes for dinner at my boss’s house in a closed gated-community (one of the newer developments in PP) and Sunday Tim and I ventured out on bike to Ta Phrom, temple-ruins about 40ish-some km (?)  outside the city.  It was good to be riding for a longer stretch again.  We had peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches and cokes for lunch while we rested on these flat wooden covered-structure things out on the Mekong River and Tim talked about airplanes and fish to this really old man who rowed up next to us.  You’ll probably roll your eyes at me again, when you learn that I did somehow manage to lose Tim on bike again on our way back (we took a different route).  I think I kept going straight somewhere, but after 45 minutes or so of calling each other and not being able to decipher where I was I had had enough.   Since I was tired I sort of just gave and paid a tuk-tuk to take me home. I think sometimes it’s okay to call it a day.

 

Finally, I started my Khmer lessons yesterday! 

 

Sok-Sapbaaay cie tee?  (Are you well?)  Kñom sok capbaay cia tee (I am well!)  Caah (c = ch) qaa-kunn craaen nah (thank you very much).  Min-quey tee (you’re welcome).

 

What I just typed up is how it is written in the book, but of course it is not how words are spelled.  Khmer writing is basically squiggly lines.  At least, they look like squiggles to me. In Khmer there are two sounds:  one comes from the front of the mouth or tongue, the other from the back, or the throat. I just want to make A SOUND that makes sense to my moto driver friend.  My teacher is awesome though. She’s in her mid-30s, two young children and learned English when UNTAC (United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia) came in the early 1990s. She used to work as a teacher but makes more money giving private lessons to foreigners.  I pay her $5 an hour plus a coffee/drink, which we consume at a café during our lesson.  She orders the cheapest drink.  At some point I would like to resume my French lessons, maybe once a week.  I’m sure I will be paying somewhere around $20 a lesson for those.

Outside the comfortable cave

It's mid-Sunday afternoon in Phnom Penh and it's hot outside.  I was supposed to go biking to see some temples outside PP with Tim this morning, but planning ahead is utterly ridiculous here and alas, I spent last night running back and forth between the bathroom and my bed. Cambodia strikes again.  "It's good for cleansing your body," Tim says.  Well, when you put it that way... 

This morning was spent in Micaela's "Cave", on her white couch, watching a movie with Fitria and Tim who were keeping me company.

  Micaela's nice apartment on the Tonle river front serves as a cool refuge from the outside world.  It's good to have friends that can take care of you when all you want to do is go home.  At noon we peeled ourselves off the couch and Fitria and I joined another neighbor for some lunch.  Little did I know we were in for a 2 1/2 hour meal.  

While I hate getting sick and giving in to the negatives of living in the developing world, I love the people I come across.  Yesterday I met a young American couple that had just quit their jobs and had been traveling for 9 months in Australia, New Zealand and SE Asia on their wedding money, and today here we were...  An Indonesian law intern, a Malaysian-Australian chemist, and a Mexican-American kid (me) eating Vietnamese in Cambodia.  When you dig into other people's lives, getting past the where they are from, how long they are here for, what they think of Cambodia, you discover another part of the world in a way.  Based on where they grew up, where they went to school, and how they came to be in a certain place, you are suddenly handed a chance to look at the world a different way.  In an illogical world, in an illogical place, certain things suddenly make sense, like why electric companies have to create shorter contracts upon the request of the Cambodian government in order to lease a 15x15 m. plot of land to put up a tower (the answer:  the Cambodian government can't be bothered to read long paragraphs in English that can't be translated into Khmer), or why the tribunal court has been wrought by allegations of kick-backs when it is perfectly normal in Cambodia to pay for your judicial seat.  A  5 second snapshot of traffic in Phnom Penh would be enough for 5 lawsuits in the U.S.  No helmets? Babies driving?  4 people on the back of a moto?  Their simply wouldn't be another way here, at least now.  

This linear thinking- this thinking of "this is the way things are done in Cambodia" of course, presents problems for those who want to think otherwise.  Those people are generally expats, or Cambodians who have studied abroad.    To challenge the norm doesn't always have to be political.  It can be done with the subtlest of changes.    What if today I ask a street kid selling books what his name is and his age?  What if I suddenly take interest in him as a person, not as a vendor or beggar?  Maybe I get a smile in return now and then, and a blush of youth comes back to his face for a short moment.  It's a good start, but it is not enough.  Sitting in nice restaurants complaining about the problems we run into with a new culture certainly isn't a solution, but when I meet people that are passionate about living with those problems my mind is awakened by the little things I can do by not accepting norms. I certainly didn't come here to change Cambodia or any person.   If anything, I came here to change myself and become more of who I am.  

There is a good paragraph in Shantaram that sort of sums this up:

"There is a kind of luck that's not much more than being in the right place at the right time, a kind of inspiration that's not much more than doing the right thing in the right way, and both only really happen to you when you empty your heart of ambition, purpose, and plan; when you give yourself, completely, to the golden, fate-filled moment."

I'm working on the giving of myself... I guess I'll know when I'll have reached that golden moment.

Birthday Celebrations and the U.N. Court

Well, first of all, I want to thank everyone who wished me a happy birthday and I'm happy to report that it was a good birthday indeed.

It started off as most birthday's should... With a Mariachi band signing "Las Mañanitas" in the background... J/K that came later.  

No, it actually started out drizzly which is great if you're Madame Mim from the Sword in the Stone (ah evoking Disney, as always).  I rode my bike in the rain to Hagar where I promptly traded it in for a motodop ride to The Living Room, one of my café corners of choice.  Over my chai-latte and fresh fruit, my grandparent's called from Mexico to wish me a happy birthday, followed by my family, this time with full-mariachi recording in the background.  Thanks mom!

The day continued to turn even grosser, so I meandered over to golden street/tourist street where I refused a number of tuk-tuk rides before ducking into the recommended "Dermal Spa" for my birthday present to myself... Aromatherapy massage, fruit scrub, steam bath, and manicure/pedicure all for hundreds less than it would have cost me in the U.S.  Thank you, Asia.  After this delightful pampering of the self, my red pedicured toes stepped into the pouring rain and I decided to sit it out for awhile at the fake Starbucks while I stared out, contemplating life and reading Shantaram.  

That evening Tim and Jess surprised me with the second best birthday present ever... A spa/massage gift certificate (this one will be saved for "post first couple of weeks at work" therapy) and a couple of us headed over to Pacharan (Spanish tapas restaurant) for before-dinner drinks and L'Una de Atuno for some delicious pizza e pasta.

Overall good birthday (minus one big girl's D.C. reunion)!

Aside from that, I am now reporting to you from Micaela's apartment on the Tonle Sap river front.  I'm now officially moved in for apartment-sitting for the month in her nice little studio, which probably fits better in N.Y. more than it does in Cambodia (well, maybe not the red, orange, and white star tiles). I have a good neighbor friend, Fitria, from Indonesia who I got to take me to her work yesterday...

She's an intern at the U.N. Court for trying the Khmer Rouge criminals on crimes against humanity.  The court's official name is the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia for the Prosecution of Crimes Committed During the Period of Democratic Kampuchea.  The court is held in the outskirts of Phnom Penh (past the airport). Naturally, I loved meeting Fitria's co-interns and felt right at home listening to the mix of languages and accents. The interns never stay year-round, so I listened in on the social scandals, drama, and work complaints (apparently, work can be boring everywhere,  even at the UN).  I met people from Latvia, France, Germany, Malaysia, the U.S. and yes, even Mexico (one girl studying in Strasbourg, from Oaxaca).  

It was both incredibly interesting and incredibly bizarre to be in such an international setting, especially while in court,  listening through earphones to the interpreter dictate what Duch (former Khmer leader in charge of S-21, the school-turned torture prison in Phnom Penh between 1975 and 1979) had to say as "the accused" when the prosecutors and civil party groups cross-examined him.  (I hope I got the legal terms right lol)  Sooo much is lost in translation that the French "President" of the court and Duch, and the Cambodian judges and anyone else have to constantly re-state and re-phrase their questions and answers.  I literally spent an entire morning listening to exactly how did Duch "Brother" communicate via letter, messenger, and telephone with his superiors (Pol Pot, Sary, Sam Bith and Nuon Paet) when prisoners were being sent to S-21.  

The court itself is actually quite a show, with the characters: the judges at center stage, the accused and defense lawyers stage right, the prosecutors and civil parties stage left, and the couple of "victims" almost behind the scenes on far stage left.  Instead of a curtain, the characters are safe behind a glass fish-bowl, while the public sits, listens and observes in what would be considered "the auditorium" seating.  Oh, and there was one rather large African security person standing near the door, in case anyone tried to sneak in a bottle of water or do something outrageous like fall asleep.  After a nice lunch and iced-coffee I decided not to go to law school.  Actually, I decided while on the back of one of the guards' motos on my way back to Phnom Penh, that I still don't know what I want to do.  Overall, attending the court was more historically impacting, especially when I am able to see an aging international criminal turn to look at the audience with curiosity and even do a little head bow, rather than the glamorous mystique that the words "United Nations Tribunal" had often brought when I read my political science texts.  I think that people are just people that often get caught up in something that brings them to do something that is seen as normal, or a way of "surviving" by those they are surrounded by.  I'm not excusing any criminal by any means, I think the point I'm trying to make is that no system (domestic or international) will ever be fair.  People here complain about how millions are being spent each year on this court a they were spent in the Rwandan and Yugoslav tribunals, how the system is flawed, how it is pointless to bring back the atrocities to generations that did not live through them, or to those that are trying to forget.  But honestly, I think that despite the flaws of such a system, there will never truly be justice for the victims or for those affected world-wide by such crimes, but it is still good to have such a process, with international backing, for the sake of history.  I know that if I was a Cambodian child born generations from now, I would have no trust in my own government and culture, if I knew nothing had been done at all to close such a gruesome chapter in Cambodia.  

The arguments and counter-arguments are endless, but at least I got to observe the daily routine of those caught up in the world of international "justice".