MIN MENCHET NGEAY (Never Easy)

So I have this long list on a yellow sticky-note next to my lap-top at work with topics I needed to blog about, but haven't actually gotten around to.  Perhaps this calls for a list update on what July in Cambodia has brought me:

1. I finally moved to my new flat next to New York International School on the cor

ner of St. 278 and 143. The flat is near the Olympic Stadium. I went running there once and got bloo

dy ankles. I guess my running shoes needed to be broken into (again).  The flat is nice and big and the "grand hall" presents ample opportunity for parties, soccer ball passing, and sliding barefoot back and forth between the door and the wall.  We have a house cleaner but the bottoms of my feet are always black.  I like the

  neighborhood, but get woken up at night by little dogs and cats thrashing between the aluminum roofs.  Sometimes I wonder if it's like 101 Dalmatians and they are all talking to each other.  Also Khmer people still wake up at 5am and start chopping and pounding things in this part of town. (photo above: grand hall; photo below: view from my room)

2. I still eat Chinese food next to my office almost everyday for lunch. This involves consumption of one or two of these dishes: roasted peanuts, fried noodles, fried rice, vegetarian dumpling soup, eel, watermelon and tea. Tom & Jerry inexplicably always play on cartoon network on the television in the background.  Conversations stop and almost every single person in the restaurant turns their attention to the show.  This includes 50 year old men and working people. I like to think that they are regaining their lost childhood, taken away by the Khmer Rouge. They probably just really like Tom & Jerry.

3. Last week one of our film directors visiting from South Korea took us to eat dinner at a North Korean restaurant in town. It's no secret that the restaurants (all over S.E. Asia) are money-generating ventures for the North Korean government. While on the one-hand I condemn support of anti-democratic government activities, I do (now) love North Korean food and figured it was okay that I was sharing the meal with some human rights activists. Ironic as it may be, the setting was perfect for conversations involving living in Thai refugee camps and speculating on whether or not the pretty girls working at the restaurant and dancing to Swedish-like music were paid (probably not) or kept hostage by the government (probably yes). 

4. My new colleague at work is a music composer. He also plays for a band named Coconut Rock! He's 29, has an earring and told me that Khmer people don't say, "Okay my friend" when hanging up the phone... They say, "Okay my Prin".  I told him that that's not a real word, but that I would try it next time.  He said no, only Khmer people can say that because it doesn't make sense. 

5.  I was going to do the red dress run with  some friends and the Hash people for charity last Saturday.  After evaluating the situation: 1. too hot 2. too hot, we quickly opted out and chose to

 get ice cream instead.

6. The music composer does not believe there are pyramids in Mexico. I had to show him a picture of one. He still didn't believe me and thought they were computer animated.  Also, I'd like to point out that this is a higher-educated Cambodian.  I can't remember his name and it's embarrassing since he sits across from me, so that's why I've renamed him, "the music composer." Unoriginal I know, for a guy who plays the keyboard at night for a band named Coconut Rock.

7. I went to MetaHouse to watch some Cambodian documentary films the other night and when we arrived we found that one had already started so we went to get ice cream while we waited for the next film.  We found ice cream across the park on Sisowath Quay and I ordered Strawberry.  Steve saw "milk egg" on the menu and at 2,000 Riels (50 cents) figured that, that was  a good price for trying something new. He got what he ordered: a yellow egg floating in hot water with milk. Condensed milk. Surprisingly, it wasn't half-bad...

8. Pontoon and BB World on a Saturday night. Enough said. For those of you that don't know what this entails (and that is most of you), suffice is to say that Saturday night was one of the funnest nights I've spent in Phnom Penh because it involved dancing. All night. On a bar, that's a boat named Pontoon. My beverage of choice at the bar: water (though served Evian not by choice). My dancing music of choice: Reggaeton.  Highlight of the evening was spotting a long blonde braid trailing down the red -shirted back of an old white person. Okay maybe it wasn't THE highlight, but it came close. Also, BB World: It's open 24 hours and allows one to purchase a scrumptious snack of crispy fried chicken nuggets, french fries and coke at 4am after Pontoon. For future reference: it comes with free Wi-Fi, so if in theory I took my laptop to Pontoon and then to BB World, I could Skype with America at 5am (5pm CST).

9. Udong: Well, it started like this.  David texted me at noon on Sunday "Is it too late for Udong?" Having gone to bed at 5am the answer was undoubtedly "yes." A half-second re-thought prompted us to meet an hour later at Central Market for a mini-adventure trip to 

Udong, Cambodia's old capital 38ish kms outside of Phnom Penh.   With 10,000 riel bus tickets, baked pastries for breakfast, and water bottles in hand, we hoped on the bus and were deposited by the driver near the temple.  A quick moto-dop ride later we found ourselves in front of 509 steps leading up to the temple at the top of the mountain (okay- small mountain). 10 steps later we also found ourselves escorted by 5 Cambodian kids. The leader of the pact, a 10 year old future multilingual savvy tour guide with gorgeous eyes took it upon himself to relate the historic importance of the temple (half of which I understood as he tried to remember probably what his school had taught him to say) and the monumental importance                                         

of the closeness of his school and straight fact that he had to pay his teacher to go to school (very common here). Upward we went, snapping photographs and taking in the scenery: the Cambodian country flatness, the Chinese garment factory at a distance, the Buddhist institute near by, the rocky trail of temples along the hill. We purchased flowers and incense to present to Buddha and the kids showed us how to light the yellow candles and burn wax on the bottom to make them stand just righ

t, even after they told us we could just say we were Christian.  Trudging along older temple

s, we encountered an amusing fertility monkey statue, a white clay little Buddha that looked like a kid had molded it to shape, and a lot of elderly folk that "are too old and cannot work" so they beg for alms, according to our guide.  To avoid the hoards of sellers on the steps on our way down, they took us down the "old steps" that crumbled beneath the encroaching foliage. In the end, David and I were a little apprehensive as to how to exactly pay our guides for our delightful

and informative visit.  Would money do? What about ice snow cones or drinks?  We settled on cold drinks all around to be enjoyed next to a monkey foraging through a garbage can full of plastic bags of rice and old corn husks, and paid them a couple thousand Riel each for their services. Who knows... Maybe the money did go to their teacher for school or to their parents or for the purchase of another cold drink. Either way, I remember it being nice treat to receive money from my parents when I worked hard for something. 

10. I am addicted to National Geographic and its

sister channels. The other day I watched Mega Structures on Dubai's Palm Island, Diego Buñuel's: Don't Tell My Mother I'm In (Iran), and Gorilla Murders (in the DRC). This is better than watching CNN's three-hour long NEWS reporting on MJ's funeral. Unfortunately, we don't get the BBC.  Also, our T.V. image sometimes goes down to one line as opposed to a full screen. This is easily remedied by hitting the T.V. in the back at just the right spot with measured force. 

11. I just returned from a self-indulgent hour of sanity at Monument Books. "Sanity" is ironic seeing as the price of one Harvard Review is $35, The Economist $9, and your assortment of female magazines priced at over $15 per issue.  With overpriced books in this littl

e bookstore on Norodom Street, the high cost of knowledge couldn't be presented more clearly.  Either way, my need for some reading materials from the outside world is probably a symptom of a disease that has haunted me all my life: restlessness. It comes with the itchiness of wanting to do a million things and doing just one or two. I list, plan, sometimes act, most of the times dream and in between read. Funny enough, I always feel guilty sitting at Monument Books. I sit there, wondering why I've paid $1.75 for a LAvazza cappuccino, a/c and the ability to hold (and browse) a new book in my hands, when I can very well just go to Central market and grab coffee for 2000 Riels in a plastic bag and not deal with feeling like the wealthier 1% of the population in this country.  I enjoy both: the street plastic bag coffee and the tea-room-like coffee cafe. As always I'm caught in between. Some call it flexibility, or adaptability. I call it confusing.  As my dad once said, "You come from a generation that wants to save the world with an ipod in hand."  Maybe it's true... I feel it happening- the whole clash of economics thing. I can't really help wanting both "me time" with a good book and cup of coffee and a moto-dop waiting or me when I leave the store, as much as I can't help wanting to go for a good walk to the market and interact with other people as I find the right stall selling the best Khmer coffee. Such is life.

12. I'm confused. The title of one of the songs on our next CD Album translates to "Boasty Boy." What exactly does that mean?

13. It really is a shame not being a man, and the injustices and inequalities of being a woman. For instance, I cannot get my hair cut on the sidewalk by a barber. Also, I cannot go number 1 on the sidewalk next to a wall. 

14. The composer's name is Sam Pety. I just found out because I needed to quote him on a Press Release.  

15. Also, today I explained the differences to him between the warmth of the Latin American culture and the reserved attitudes of the British. This explanation came after he said he liked how I was more open and smiley.  Of course at the time I was bursting out in laughter after reading the titles "Boasty Boy", "Peasant's Heart" and "I'll Leave You."  Honestly, the dramatics here could rival Latin American novelas sometimes. On another note, I watched a S. Korean drama the other day and thoroughly enjoyed the long stares.

16. Last night I was told that the dogs thrashing about the aluminum roofs are actually rats. Lovely.

The 4th of July, Just Like a Circus

On July 4th, Phnom Penh pretty much went about its daily business. I still worked half a day on a Saturday as usual, the

traffic was still crazy, Cambodian kids went to school, but for about 1,300 people, half of which were American, the 4th was a day when you could get corn dogs at the American Embassy.  

Throughout the world, wherever there is an

American Embassy, the Embassy throws two types of parties, a formal and an informal one. The formal one is for diplomats, dignitaries and the like, while the informal one is for you, me and if I had them, my Cambodian spouse and child. Not that I work for the American Embassy, but from what I gathered, preparing for a 4th of July event abroad is pretty much a circus, which as it turned out, was also the theme for this year's Cambodian 4th.  

For some reason or another, during my time here I have also signed up to volunteer as the "Media Contact" for the non-profit, Democrats Abroad 

(all over the world as well) which comes with the job of writing press releases and volunteering at events like the 4th of July. So this July, I found myself helping set up a bamboo structure and booth for DemsAbroad at the American Embassy, next to the military vets and Swensen's Ice Cream.   

The gardens of the embassy were transformed to allow a gigantic white, star-spangled tent to shelter the party-goers from the rain (and it did rain at one point).  A good punk-looking, Khmer band rocked out to American pop-songs (including the Brittney Spears Circus song) as acrobats and clowns made their way through the crowd, performing at will to the delight of the strange-crowd of American citizens.  NGO workers, English teachers, Marines, Embassy people, a white monk in costume,  and your typical over-weight white male in a Hawaiian flower button-down, paraded around

the grounds, licking strawberry, chocolate or vanilla ice cream cones, chowing down on huge cheeseburgers, taking part in hot-dog eating contests, and drinking beer.  

You could also get fake-twizzlers at the USA Donuts booth.  Sadly, there were no fireworks this year.  Tim blamed it on the economy. I spent most of my time trying to sell Obama Cambodia tee-shirts (which are actually

pretty cool), trying to get people to come to a July 16th DemsAbroad meeting on health care policy reform for Americans living overseas, and sneaking away to hang out with friends. 

It was a good 4th, though family picnics and small-town parades and fireworks were greatly missed.  

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.