Linda

The past week was a mess, hence why my blog posts abruptly vanished and I just relied on the automatic posting feature to finish up telling the temple stories. I had a workshop to finish and kids not ready to perform on Thursday for a Friday show, I crashed my bike, and wasn't home any evening.

Instead, I was out on Pub Street, usually at the same bar or somewhere close, with a 50 cent draft beer and the free popcorn. I didn't go there to drink, as drinking alone is sad, and I could have easily just gone back to my hotel after dinner.

In being there alone, of course, I always started talking to the people around me and made some excellent friends, but that is not why I was there.

I was there to see Linda, the flower girl I talked about in the dinner post. When she said goodbye to our group, she said to me, "I see you every day." I took her seriously, and besides, I wanted to see her. I didn't see her over dinner, and so went to the bar in the hopes of catching her -- and did, every night.

Some days she would just sit and play games on my cellphone. One day she was selling some plastic snakes, and sat in my lap to recount an incredibly detailed story with each snake as a character, further astounding everyone in the vicinity with her grasp of English. Some days she would try to sell to whoever I was sitting with. On one occasion, when the monsoons hit, she came inside with me and sat, playing with my cell until the rains stopped.

I gave her my card with my email and phone, and made sure she had it before I left. On my last day, she begged me not to go. She said she was only here until next week, and then back to her country (province), some eight hours away. When she comes back, she said, maybe I sell, maybe not.

I promised her we would see each other again, and she made me hook our pinkies and swear, which I said. And when at last we hugged goodbye, she couldn't let go, and cried as I held her.

The sound you hear is my heart breaking into pieces. I dried her tears, promised again to find her, and then before either of us could fall apart anymore she left, and I ran.

I don't know what I did. She never tried to sell me anything, and I never asked to buy. We just understood each other perfectly, and since I left, I can't stop thinking about her, and spent most of yesterday completely broken-hearted. I'm going to find her again -- somehow. I'm already planning to make a dance about her, and call it Linda, and whenever I do find her -- show her, or have her dance it (she's a fantastic dancer.)

In any case, if you see her -- tell her I'm looking for her.

A night of three: part 4

By the time I arrived, there were five of us, though shortly after to be four, as one of the three German guys headed out. Sometime during the evening, the Dutch girls joined us, bringing the number to six. 

It was a restaurant down one of the alleys from Pub Street, which is exactly what it sounds like, and loud and crowded to boot. But down the alleys, it’s calmer and very nice, the restaurants packed one next to the other.

The dinner itself was not particularly special – in fact, most of them were just drinking, it was just my friend Paulo and I eating, beef lok lak. For the rest, draft beer, only 50 cents per. 

No, what was fascinating were the visitors. 

The first was perhaps the most broken woman I have ever seen. I don't know how old she was, but not very. She was wearing a dress, if you can all it that, sagging down to show her bra. She wore no shoes, and stumbled, clearly drunk. 

She came to the table. At this point, it was raining, and the four of us had moved under the eaves, leaving one side of the table empty, where she was standing. She was carrying a small plastic cup and placed it on the table, not looking at us. Randomly, she moved things around. Paulo gave her what little remained of his drink, which she took, then mimed a smoke. In one of her hands, she was clutching a lighter. 

The German guys both smoked, and one passed a cigarette over. She had a bit of trouble lighting it. Paulo, pretending not to watch by covering his eyes with the coasters, made her laugh, a brief thing, but beautiful. She took a long, grateful drag. She at last met my eyes, and I offered her a smile, the only thing I could think of. She returned it, offering a small thumbs up, and then stumbled away. 

We noticed later she had taken a headband from the disabled vendor across the way, so Paulo went over to pay for it. By that time, she was long gone. 

The second was a young girl, a vendor, 10 years old as we later learned. Her name was Linda, and we had met her the night previously, at another bar. She spoke excellent English and hung around our table for a long time, even after she knew we weren't buying, to talk. Both Paulo and I have Maori fish hooks, and she did as well, a topic to be much discussed. 

She was around a lot during Monday evening. She was clearly exhausted, but refused to say so. She was eating fruit and tried to explain that on Mondays, she only wants fruit. The guys tried to get her to eat more, but she refused. Still, she kept coming back. The previous night, she had just been talking to the guys, and again this time. And yet, one time when she came back, she came over to me, threw her arms around my shoulders, and kissed my cheek, and remained there for several seconds. 

With several more kisses and another squeeze, she was off, leaving me stunned and touched, totally melted and totally heartbroken. She said at one point she was staying with a friend and I wondered where her parents were, if at all. She kept coming back, at one point quite firmly removing Paulo's hand from my knee, where it had been resting, and sitting in my lap herself. Later on, the waitress -- a relative, or a friend -- brought her a plate of watermelon, which we shared, though mostly tried to get her to eat, and Paulo paid for it. 

At the end, she was drawing something, and I asked her if I could draw something for her, drawing the little rose I always doodle. The others added their little drawings. Everyone in the group but me was leaving the next day, and she gave them all hugs, at last putting her fist in the middle. I joined first, and everyone else put their fists in. "Friends forever!" she declared, wishing the rest of them luck and saying to me, "I see you every day!"

As she left, the third and final visitor appeared, watching this exchange with wide eyes. He was a street child, wide, hungry eyes. He looked no more than eight, but when we asked, said he was twelve. He didn't speak any English. He was clutching an empty water bottle and a can to his chest, probably to exchange for a few riel. 

We had a half empty water bottle on the table, and gave it to him, which he took. The waitress came with a new plate of popcorn, and was going to put it in his shirt, but we found an extra bag and filled it for him. He took it gratefully. When she came with a new plate for us, we gave that to him as well. I think Paulo slipped him a dollar or two as well, and he went off, one arm clutching the bottles, and one stuffing popcorn into his mouth. I wondered when the last time he had eaten was. 

Three visitors. It was like a myth, like each needed something specifically from us. I don't know if we gave them that, but hopefully. 

But it didn't really hit until today, when I was telling my sister about the temples, and the blessings, and said that my favorite was from the three ancient women. Three, and then I looked down and realized I was wearing three blessing bracelets. 

Three blessings, three women, three visitors. 

I don't think it was a coincidence. 

The bike, the heat, and the blessings: part 3

I got a late start on Sunday.

It was overcast when I set out, my bike clanking away as it does and me wondering if it would last the day. It’s not a very long ride to the archeological park, to Angkor Wat a bit further, and from there another few minutes to Angkor Thom.

I could have started at Angkor Wat, but had discovered sometime during the week they had elephant rides in Angkor Thom, and I thought only in the morning. They normally go from the south gate of the city to the east gate of Bayon temple, but when I got there they had moved up to the east gate already, and so just cycled the rest of the way.

They were now doing loops around the temple, and I parked my bike. The people running the rides were very friendly. They can’t do rides for just one person, but quite fortunately there was a friendly Malaysian guy who was also by himself, and so it worked out perfectly. We waited for the elephants to come back and chatted amiably.

I bought a pineapple to give to the elephant, and they cut it up into three pieces for me. Most people seemed to be afraid of the elephants, kind of dropping the fruit and running, but I know they’re very gentle and tried to wait while the trunk – so delicate for such a big creature – wrapped around the fruit.

The ride itself was bumpy, the little platform to hold us rocking back and forth as the elephant shifted its weight, and not entirely comfortable. But it was really cool. Afterwards, I set off to the temple, which turned into a much longer adventure as I realized there were many more – Angkor Thom was, in fact, a whole city – and it was going to take a lot more exploring than just checking out Bayon.

The adventure took me the entire morning, each again totally different from the previous day and from each other, today an experiment in climbing very steep stairs. The clouds had gone away, and the day was sweltering hot. The shade – wherever I found it – was welcome, and by the time I started trying to find my way back to Bayon, I realized I’d wandered very far.

There was one thing of special note in this adventure, a stop by one of the huge shrines surrounding the temple with the enormous statues of Buddha. I found one empty, three ancient women sitting around with shaved heads and a great lack of teeth. They smiled at me and waved me over, and I came gladly. I took the incense and one showed me how to do the three bows, which I already knew, but let her show. Then, she pointed me to her two colleagues, and one tied another bracelet around my wrist. As she did so, all three came over, touching my hand with theirs, and intoned the blessing together.

At the end, the one put my hand to my head. They pointed me on to the next temple, and I went, feeling quite touched.

When I finally found my way back to my bike – taking a wrong turn and unnecessarily wandering around the entire dang Bayon temple – I found the elephants gone, the table gone, and a small plastic bag with some mysterious foodstuffs in my bike basket. Wondering if they had been thrown there or left for me purposefully, I headed off to the next stop, Ta Prohm, stopping to buy a one dollar pate sandwich along the way.

Curiosity killed the cat, and however much I had no clue what was in the bag, I had to try it, finding it to be something fried, with some veggies in the middle. I didn’t trust it, but had a few bites, and went off to explore.

By the time I was on the road to Angkor Wat, I wasn’t feeling very well, though whether or not that was the heat, a lack of water, the sun, or the mysterious foodstuff, I’m still not sure. It was a full 7km to return to Angkor Wat and by the time I got there I was seriously dragging. The sun was really overwhelming.

I parked the bike and bought a cold water. I didn’t stay long. The temple looks like it does in the picture, and is impressive for its sheer size – and I guess the bas-reliefs, which I said I wasn’t much interested in. It was crowded, and under construction, and I stayed long enough to feel the stones and then went off in search of a rest and water.

Following this, and feeling a bit better, though still hotter than I’ve ever been in my life, I got back on the bike and dragged myself home, my body protesting the entire way, and wasted no time in cranking the AC and going to bed.

Traveling alone was nice for the freedom I had, though the day was a bit of a struggle, most for the heat. I suppose I could have spent more time everywhere, but I just didn’t feel the need. It was enough, as I said, to see them, and to feel the stones.

By the evening when the rains came, they were heartily welcome, and I again had dinner with my new friends, this time joined by a couple of Dutch girls, as they were sitting next to us and we just started chatting.

It set the stage for Monday dinner, which is currently one of the fascinating experiences I have ever had, and I guess that’s saying a lot. To be continued…

The temples, a lot of incense, and not seeing the bas-reliefs

The first day, I took a tuktuk. I had been planning to go on a moto, but was convinced otherwise, and was very grateful for it. The main attractions -- Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom, and Ta Prohm -- I decided to leave for the following day as they are in cycling distance, and took advantage  of having the tuktuk to go around the "big circuit," with the more distant temples, including one, Banteay Srey, which is about 37 km away.

I met my driver at eight, and we hashed out the itinerary and then headed out. We saw around eight temples that day, quite enough for one day I think. Although some of them are classed as 'minor ruins' by the maps, they are still all equally impressive.

I don't know how to really talk about them. It's hard to get your mind around how old they are, or that they were once the foundations of an Empire and not the ruins they are today, that people walked through them. They are all, for the most part, enormous, huge monuments to power -- some are religious, some are residences, some are capitals.

The stones are colorful. I guess I hadn't expected that, but in this tropical climate the lichen and moss covers the stones and they are splattered with color. There are different kinds of stone, from the porous, sponge-like, to the black and white streaked sandstone (my guess is sandstone, at least), to the regular blocks of grey rock. Each temple is a different color -- for example, Preah Khan, the first I saw and one of the biggest, more of a grey streaked with pink and green lichen, versus Banteay Srey, a rich red sandstone.

If you like, the guidebooks or the guides will tell you what exactly are the carvings, what each room is for. They will show the bas-reliefs and the sculptures and tell you the stories behind them. I guess that's interesting enough, however --

It's not why I was there. Sure, I could have spent more time at each temple, could have hired a guide, could have checked the sculptures against the book. But I didn't, and didn't want to. I came to feel the stones, the energy. I wanted to know what the temples felt like, if they still carried the history with their stones. Just to spend some time in them.

They are starting to crumble now. The plants are taking over -- the trees too, roots dripping over walls and worming through the cracks. Some hallways are blocked with the huge stones, tumbling down like waterfalls. Almost all of the statues are missing their heads, thanks to some enterprising vandals. Can't take the statue, so take the head, I guess.

But the history is still there, like it could ever escape. In each temple, often in more than one place, there is a center area, darker than the rest, with a monument. To the King, or to the Buddha. The statues are draped in bright fabrics, little shrines set up in front with some offerings. Some have donation boxes, and some have watchful guardians, but some don't, just a lighter, some incense sticks and a bowl to stick them, and the statue. I liked these latter the best, but lit incense at all kinds, kneeling to pay my respects to the past. Not to the Buddha, but the ancestors, the history.

Often, by these shrines, there's a mat and some ancient person, men and women, crouching. With them is a bowl full of donations and little string bracelets. Maybe they were monks, or maybe not. Maybe they just know a few Sanskrit blessings, or maybe it's not Sanskrit at all.

It didn't matter to me. The first blessing I received was at the temple Banteay Sampré, just before lunch on Saturday. The man wasn't a monk, because he were he wouldn't have been allowed to touch me, but he took my hand as I sat next to him. He tied the bracelet around my wrist, murmuring a new blessing with each knot. He then gave me a flashlight and told me to go into the darkest, center room, I think a tomb for the King or at the very least a very sacred place.

I did -- it was creepy, and looked around at the fallen stones, broken in pieces on the floor. The ceiling of the pagoda went very high, and I offered a last sompiah before returning to the old monk. He asked me to sit again and tied another bracelet around my wrist, this time sprinkling it with water. He put my hand to his head and murmured, some in English and some in his own language, and then at last released it.

Who knows if it was a real Sanskrit blessing, and honestly, I didn't, and don't, care. The blessing, and the sentiment, were honest, and he wished luck and long life for the both of us. I thought, hey, you know what, I'll take it.

The other thing about the first day was the long trip up to Banteay Srey, a full forty five minutes drive each way. I sat back in the tuktuk, very happy for the roof as it was raining, and watched the countryside go by. Here, as I said before, the children play in the rivers along the road, brown water and god knows what inside, but they shriek and hang onto logs and play. The countryside is beautiful, and so green.

By the time we got to the last temple for the day, Pre Rup, which was really cool, and so big, I was getting really very tired, the early morning wake up really starting to get to me, and all the exploring.

My tuktuk driver, a very friendly guy named Rob who spoke English pretty well, explained the basics of each temple as we arrived -- when it was built, what the name meant, and a few other factoids. Some, he would meet me on the other side, or back at the parking. It was really such a privilege to have the tuktuk, after each temple to settle into the back, slip off my shoes, and watch the jungle go by.

I spent much of Saturday evening hanging out with some new friends, some people who had been on the same temple circuit as me -- a couple of German guys and a Brazilian guy -- and we met for dinner and drinks. After the long day, it was really nice to kick back and chat.

Sunday was something else, as I decided to take the bicycle and go alone. That is for part three, and part four is now reserved for dinner last night, which turned out to be one of the crazier experiences I've had here, and that is saying something.

Temple hopping: Part 1

Strap in. This is gonna take awhile. After two days and --- (pause to count and while I try to relocate my map, without which this latter task will be impossible) --- eleven temples, there's a lot to recount. I'm not going to go temple by temple -- check out the pictures on Facebook for each -- but talk about the adventure, the experience, and all the fun Things Of Note.

While at a certain point you have seen so many temples that your eyes are crossing, it is not true that once you've seen one temple you've seen them all. And while sometimes it is tempting -- read, on the last temples when you are dying from the heat and exhaustion -- to be like, yeah so it's a bunch of old rocks, you never quite get there, because they are all so impressive in their own ways.

They are, however, a bunch of old rocks. A bunch of really really old rocks. I was talked into buying a guide book -- hey, it'll make a good present when I go home -- and the most recent dates are eight hundred years ago, some into the 9th century.

A note on the book: I bought it to shut up the vendors offering it and give a really good excuse why I didn't want to pay some random friendly guy to tell me about the temple history, however interesting it was. The guy I bought it from was very nice, but scalped me for 12 bucks -- though in all fairness in the bookshop it's 28 -- and my tuktuk driver later informed me Cambodians get for 6, and I'm pretty sure I heard other vendors later offering it for that. So whoops, my bad. I wasn't pleased to discover this, but like I said, it'll make a good souvenir.

And the vendors, by the way, are everywhere. They of course congregate at the entrances and exits and gather by each temple. They are loud, persistent, and "if you buy you buy from me." They range from very young -- I saw a girl not much more than three, heartbreakingly, waving a postcard in the direction of a guy -- to middle age. Many very young, and many teenager/young adult.

One of them, particularly persistent and friendly -- she was admiring my white skin, and discussing how the rich Cambodians make their skin white, but all she could do was wear long sleeves and a hat -- finally convinced me to buy a scarf. It was only because she sold one to my tuktuk driver for 2000 riel and then asked 1 dollar for me, but apparently they're friends. Either way, at least she was honest enough to laugh about it, and I picked out a beautiful blue cotton scarf.

They are all friendly, of course, but annoying, though I learned if you talk to them in Khmer they leave pretty quick, if you say 'I'm sorry' and whatever word is appropriate for their age -- it all mean "sister" or "brother", but varies according to age. For the little kids, who hang around for ages by the hapless tourists with frustrated looks on their faces, I noticed if I just say, "Sum tow own," (sorry, younger sister/brother), they headed off quick enough.

I am also really getting tired of being called "Lady." I greatly prefer "sister", and actually really like it whenever anyone calls me that.

While I'm on the subject of the vendors, it should be noted that it's a particularly sad story -- my tuktuk driver explained that of all the money that people pay just to get into the park (20 for one day, 40 for three days, maybe 60 for the full week), exactly none of it goes to the Cambodian people who really need it, and instead just fatten the pockets of the foreign companies that run the park. For the vendors, they must pay three dollars a day just to be there.

If you'll excuse a bit of a diversion from the temples -- it is incredibly sad to see so many young children selling and not going to school. But unlike in the cities, out there it is the countryside, and I got a chance to see a lot of it. It is remote, and there are no schools anywhere close. They certainly can't afford to have a driver, even tuktuk or moto, and the kids will probably make more money selling. It's a vicious cycle.

And about the remoteness -- no, seriously. The roads are paved, ish, for the tourists, but they are still filled with potholes and issues, and in between the temples, there is just jungle, and people living. It was not unusual to see children playing in the rivers and streams, swimming around, shrieking and laughing as children do. The water has been god knows where, but they don't mind.

The temples are enormous, but the jungle hides them, such that you can't see them until you're literally standing in front of them -- except for Angkor Wat, which was built to be seen as far as I can tell. The plants and the green is everywhere, insidious and beautiful. The trees are if not as old as the temples, in the range of two or three hundred years, and are ridiculously tall and have the craziest roots. They drape themselves like lounging gods, in the most improbable ways. I never knew trees were able to grow like that.

The ruins, however, are everywhere. I'm sure just going to see the main temples you see the merest fraction of what's out there. Home to the Khmer Empire during the Angkorian and pre-Angkorian eras, and filled with Kings, whose names all end in -man for whatever reason, who liked moving the courts and the capitals around, each move -- with each new King -- bringing more building. You can see them sometimes, tucked into the jungle -- these days, maybe someone's house, or where the children play.

So here is the picture you start with: tourists, from everywhere, the jungle, and a whole bunch of really impressive old rocks, the brain-children of some really powerful dudes a really really long time ago, and masses of Cambodians with every kind of useless trinket imaginable, swarming the tuktuks as they arrive like carriages to the ball.

Got it?

Okay, now we can start exploring...

A moto ride to the middle of nowhere

It's been a challenging week, for a lot of reasons. I was never intending this to be a vacation but it's been more of a struggle than anticipated, part of that for reasons I can do absolutely nothing about. Either way, I'm pretty happy to see the weekend, and have decided to take it completely as a vacation.

My workshop finished at five. At six, the organizer of the club here came by the guesthouse on his moto to take me to see this stage where he wants to do the showing next week -- something I hadn't really thought about, but it is better than the huge, hot room on the second floor of the hotel we've been using.

Dusk was gathering as we headed out, the crescent moon high in the sky. I, as I have said already on this blog, adore riding on the back of motos, and I sat back to enjoy as we left the main town. Heading to where cars stop for cows crossing the road and sometimes the concrete cuts out into small lakes from all the rain. Where the shanties line the street and the jungle creeps up to the side of the road, insatiable green.

We went even past the local restaurants, the markets filled with Khmer people getting food for dinner, soups in two plastic bags and sitting in those colorful plastic chairs, big open houses and restaurants. We turned down a side road, and then onto a dirt road, fine red dirt.

The place was just there, in the middle of nowhere. A few friendly children opened the gate for us. It was a small collection of huts, with tin sides and roofs. In one, a small stage, painted green, with a few large amplifiers and maybe five small lights arranged at the front of the stage. A couple other buildings, and on the right, built on stilts, what must have been a dormitory, where the children were gathered. Steep steps -- more of a ladder -- led to the ground, now flooded, and they splashed through ankle deep water to investigate us.

Across the way, a tiny playground -- a seesaw, and a slide, in teetering, rusty blue metal. A pile of logs, and then the gate. A few of the mean, rangy dogs that are everywhere were running around.

"What is this NGO?" I asked, turning around, and finding a sign. "Cambodia Orphan Family Center Organization." Suddenly, it made sense that the kids were gathered there so late, and the dormitories. Oh, I thought, suddenly speechless. They teach traditional arts here, my friend explained. Every Saturday and Sunday during the high season -- not now -- they have shows.

The kids happily bid us goodbye, and the night was good and truly falling, the sky the shade of blue I can't ever get enough of. The frogs were singing their hearts out, and I sat on the back of the moto, in just absolute peace.

I had dinner at a place called Butterflies Garden, though the butterflies are only around in the daytime. Either way, I had a traditional Khmer dish -- yellow beans and pork wrapped in sticky rice and steamed in a banana leaf, a shrimp salad -- which was excellent, and I'm not usually a shrimp fan -- and some fresh veggies. I had a fresh coconut to drink.

I treated myself to ice cream at Swensen's afterwards, and decided to splurge and get whipped cream with, not really realizing I was going to be giving a full mountain of the stuff. But it was lovely, anyway, and now I'm so full I can barely move. But --- it was so worth it.

Check out the pics and a bonus vid from the back of the moto...

The lobby of my guesthouse. So pretty! 

The NGO. 

Sunset. 

Coconut with dinner! 

Er...have a little ice cream with your whipped cream??

Stumbling in on sacred ceremonies: with photos

It just so happened that today, of all the days I might have chosen to check out the School of Fine Arts here in Siem Reap, they had invited a couple old masters to work with the kids and to honor their presence, decided to do a whole ceremony, honoring the spirits of the dance. 

The set up is quite extravagant: at the head a table with the mask for the giant role and a bunch of apsara headresses, then a line of candles on either side, in descending height - but not ordinary candles, towers of greens and wax, with cones at the top, an egg, and then the smaller candle - and then the offerings, mostly bananas and other fruit. One plate -- all gold and ornately carved -- held a cooked chicken. In between the line and by the table, a bowl of water and a coconut. Finally, a giant pot of incense sticks, and a plate with many candles stuck on it. 

They were in the process of setting this all up when I arrived. Sitting and waiting were the students, in their uniforms. There were perhaps fifty in total, though my estimating skills are a bit iffy. The boys - maybe the music students? - in yellow. All the girls in the traditional tightly buttoned top and wrapped pants -- the very young in light blue shirts and green pants, the mid age in red pants and white tops, and the older in the colors of their choosing. 

Bustling around the offerings, lighting candles, were the older girls, the teachers watching with a close eye. At last, with everything lit and the room filling with incense smoke, the orchestra took their places, a mix of young students and older masters. 

The first song, everyone in the room began to bow, the traditional hands to head and then to floor three times, then bent over. After that, they just remained sitting, hands in the 'sompiah' or namaste position. After a few songs, six girls got up, each taking one offering, and then performing the basic apsara gestures (which, happily, I've learned to recognize) -- and in fact, as I've been told, this is what apsara was created for, rituals and ceremonies only, not shows. 

They put the offerings back after that, and -- my goodness, I thought, this is a LONG ceremony -- five other girls got up and performed a full apsara dance, five or ten minutes long. I don't know what it was about, though I assume it is to pay homage to the ancestors. 

With that, the incense almost burnt out and the candles dripping wax everywhere, the fruits of the offerings were broken open, a banana or two unpeeled, the eggs opened, and the orchestra played a final song, everyone repeating the bowing sequence from earlier (including me, I was doing my best to follow). 

The ceremony at last closed, everyone began to split up the offerings, happily eating them. I guess the ancestors had had their fill, and food does not go to waste here. One of the old masters offered me a bunch of longan, one of my favorite fruits here. I took it with both hands -- I'm learning the gestures of respect -- and ate them, thinking to have fruit touched by the spirits of the dance is pretty darn cool. 

I had some time to kill after that and made friends with a kitten, who kept trying to attack my hands, but adorably sat on my lap for awhile -- cats always seem to understand I love them. The rest of the day was just a nice lunch with a couple of friendly elder British guys who are apparently launching a theater company in town, teaching, and dinner at a off-the-beaten-path falafel place, which may or may not have been a bad idea on a still tender stomach. But I wanted to, so that's just me thumbing my nose at whatever bacteria I picked up...

Here are some pictures of the past days' adventures...

Falafel for lunch the other day. I've been in a mood for it I guess.

The School of Arts. 

The offerings. 

The headresses. 

My new friend. :)

Tuesday Night Chatter

I am so full I can hardly move, thanks to an amazing meal at an Indian restaurant, recommended by the people who post reviews on trip advisor for being "authentic". I ordered a meal set, for five dollars, and got this enormous meal tray, with rice, curry, veggies, daal, yoghurt, and naan. And healthy dollops of each.

I ate almost all of it, because it was so delicious I couldn't think of wasting it, and while I have a refrigerator in my room, I don't have a microwave. So there goes that. Either way, I don't regret it, but I did have to walk extra slowly on the way home.

Speaking of that, I could take the bike, but I like walking, as it's not far and it's easy to browse on your feet than wheels. Also, people bother to avoid you if you're on foot, on a bike it's all your responsibility to avoid them.

I've also been going out earlier than usual, mostly just because I don't feel like sitting in the hotel room, but it's proved to be very nice, as I get out before all the tourist crowds hit. When I walk to dinner, it's peaceful, and the restaurants are calm, but as I get out, the vendors are in full force, the streets crowded, and the tuktuk drivers yowling from every corner.

It's been interesting to eat out for every meal -- lots of fun, though I think probably by two weeks I'll be happy to go back to my simple diet, which was coincidentally enough getting old by the time I left. I also have a lot of time on my hands, and while there are a lot of things I could be doing, I'm torn between the desire to get a lot done, and take the time to not do too much and rest. I'm leaning towards the latter, as I'm sure I'll be bored soon enough and will have to find things to occupy myself.

I don't have a lot to say on this edition of TNC. My brain is pretty fried these days -- either it thought too much, or maybe I'm just remembering what it's like to teach everyday! I guess it'd be the same if I were working, but I think I do put more energy into teaching. With this group especially, because there are so many of them and they're so young -- at least, they act so young, I took a peek at their ages and they really aren't THAT young -- I feel like I need to be on at every moment.

In any case, I've been sleeping a lot -- long nights and daily naps. Maybe just catching up from the big creative/work push at the beginning of September.

I'm going to call this a wrap for now, and apologies for the lack of exciting adventures -- I'm sure they will return post haste.

Waiting for the rain to stop: my newest hobby (with photos)

The first day of the workshop went decently well, considering that there are over twenty students, and however much my translator assures me that they are all over fifteen, and some even claim to be as old as I am, I would not have put them more than sixteen, maximum. I saw how young they were and was immediately concerned, but decided to challenge them anyway and just assume they'll rise to it.

They did, for the most part, and -- well, what else can you expect, for the first day of doing very strange things that are supposedly dance and feel just kind of like games? I got them to stop playing around, happily, but the exercises are such that my translator, one of the club's supervisors, sort of laughs when he's explaining, like I-have-no-idea-why-the-heck-she-wants-to-do-this-but-okay. But by the end of the day, I think maybe he started to see method in the madness and I think they'll get to it.

After, I went back to the room, but was restless and decided to go for a work and check out the scene. I decided I wanted to go to the Night Market, but took a circuitous route, wandering by the river and the old market, then back and forth around the Pub streets (yes, they are called that) before heading to the Night Market, fending off all the Khmer people determined that I should get a massage.

The market was just opening and I was one of the few people there, but it was nice that way, and I found my way to the center, with the Island bar, a bit straw hut. The Night Market in Phnom Penh is much louder and many more people, though maybe I was just early enough, but I found it really peaceful. I found the food court, as it were, and checked out all the menus, took a wander to think and dissuaded a vendor determined to sell me chopsticks -- in her defense, they were beautiful.

I went back and ordered fresh spring rolls and french fries, not the healthiest meal I suppose, but it was very good. It started to rain halfway through, and the Island bar workers came to see if I might want a draft beer for a buck, and so I caved. By the end of the first, the rain was showing no signs of stopping, so I got a second and an ice cream, and settled in for the long run.

It was very beautiful, and very peaceful -- early on a rainy monday night, I expect it isn't like that all the time. In any case, it stopped close to eight, some half hour/hour later, and I headed home. It's starting again now, and will probably keep doing this for the rest of the next month and a half.

So far, I really like the city, after having my little flip out last night and this morning. I think maybe the locals are more used to seeing barangs here. In Phnom Penh it's not unusual for people to turn around to gawk from the back of the moto, which is actually quite disconcerting. But this afternoon, I was pedaling along on my shitty borrowed bike -- it's only speed can be best described as "toodling" -- along this big wide road, and nobody stared or gawked or turned their heads to watch me going by. Just another barang on a bike, we've got lots of those.

I don't like how on pub street it's back to same old story -- barangs, and tuktuk drivers jockeying for attention, people trying to sell you something at every turn; essentially, everything for the tourists. But just outside, it's really nice, almost calm.

I admit, toodling down that wide road with all the shops on the side, I was thinking how sometimes in the French countryside I used to think I could be anywhere, but I know now that's not true. Big highway with shops and overhead signs for the route or not, I could not have possibly confused myself into thinking I was just anywhere.

I also remember thinking, sometimes my life really is cool.

Here are a few photos from the day:

My bike. I look ridiculous on it. 

One of the many streets like this, crammed with restaurants.
No, it's not as European as it might look. 

Spring rolls!! yum! 

Figuring out my camera's nighttime scene function...

That's what I'm talking about. 

Two weeks stay, the rainy season, and hiding in the hotel room

As with any first night in a new place, I woke often in the night, despite enjoying the wonders of sleeping in an air-conditioned room, mostly because I got to use covers for the first time in forever. The sound of the rain pounding on the tin roofs just outside woke me up, but didn't bother me too much, though to discover it still going this morning was a bit annoying...

My alarm went off at eight and wrestled me out of a dream about causing havoc at my old high school (which I did even while I was there, come to think of it...). I went to the café just across the street, Common Grounds, for breakfast, and was stymied by the fact that they were still baking all my favorite breakfast treats, but managed just fine on toast, eggs, and an espresso. I'm trying not to spend enormous amounts of money, so mostly trying to stick to my 10 dollar a day per diem from Cambodian Living Arts.

In any case, I met one of the supervisors from the club I'm teaching at nine, who came in a car, thankfully, and showed me how to get to the rehearsal space. It's a bit out of the way, but it's funny to note that as soon as you leave the tourist traps, the bilingual signs more or less disappear, leaving just Khmer. It's pretty sad, actually...anyway, the space is a huge room on the second floor of a hotel, with a big tin roof, tiled floors, and windows open to the outside. They open onto Siem Reap and the countryside, and it's actually quite beautiful, though the noise of the rain on the roof is a bit loud.

Speaking of the rain, apparently the rainy season is in full swing now, and September and October promise to give 25 days of rain per month, according to the club supervisor, and if the past few days are any indication, it rains all day too. Which means that I'm going to have to just suck it up and spend the next couple months being wet, or buy a couple of those ponchos.

I was going to spend this morning exploring a bit, and probably still could as it's more or less stopped raining, but I was so tired when I got back at nine thirty that I decided to just sleep, and have decided to take today easy. Maybe I'll explore when I go out for dinner, but I realized that I'm here two weeks, and it's a small city. I have all the time in the world to explore, and if I need to take a few days to adjust -- everything is still so new and confusing -- that is totally okay, and if I just chill in my hotel room, that's okay too. Or at a cafe, or whatever it may be.

It's a luxury I think a lot of travelers don't allow themselves, and goes along with my previous post about seeing the sights. I still remember my mom telling me to sleep a lot when I got to Phnom Penh because that's how your brain adjusts itself, and while Siem Reap and Phnom Penh are in the same country, Siem Reap is a whole new city and I would not say I'm comfortable in Cambodia yet.

I'm comfortable in Phnom Penh in that I know how to get around, I can more or less always figure out where I am, and I have places I go to and like, and people I know. It's not really home yet, and still remains very strange. Here, I don't know how to get around, I don't know how to get places, I know no one and I have no idea what are the good places. That's okay; I'll find some good places during the two weeks and I'll probably make sure to go back there a lot.

In the meantime, I'm going to take today very easy, still a little sick and culture-shocked all over again. I'm anxious, as I always am, for the first day of teaching a new group. I'm going to get lunch at the café adjacent to my hotel, because it's probably cheaper and I can sit and eat my noodle soup in peace, and mess around with my syllabus for the first class.

Like a minivan out of hell -- with photos

Laying on the horn to scatter -- or not -- the motos and carts and cows from the middle of the road, we blasted down the road, swerving past any vehicle going slower than us, that is, all of them. The huge tourist buses, vans like ours, normal passenger cars, motos. More often than not, laying on the brakes as a pothole reared its ugly head, or the driver realized that he wasn't going to be able to pass the slow-moving truck before the oncoming traffic hit.

I was very tired, and a little sick, probably from the grand adventure biking in several monsoons last night (worthy of another blog post -- I've been slacking because I've been really busy and my google accounts have been strangely messed up, I think my network somehow decided to block googleusercontent.com or something. In any case, I have a lot to catch up on.) The long and the short of that story is that I spent the majority of the evening in cold, wet clothes, and was already a bit sniffly, so, well...

Anyway. Of the fourteen passengers in the van, including the driver, there were two females, both expat, and the rest male, I think mostly Khmer but with a couple of non Khmer. I slept a bit, amazingly, later on in the journey, which took about five and a half hours, though it seemed much longer. The first two hours were interminable, though it got better later on. But for the most part, I looked out the window and thought, as I currently have a lot to think about.

Besides, there was a lot to look at.

At the beginning, it's all the same shops, little hole in the wall places, people sitting in plastic chairs and waiting for the world to arrive. Every few minutes, reliably, a car parked and its occupants peeing off the side of the road -- for all guys complain it's the girls who go all the time, well, it's a lot easier for you!!! But besides that, the houses, all built on stilts of course with laundry hanging, little shanty shack houses. Children running around, people living.

I wanted to take pictures of it all, the shops and how they vanished as we headed down the road, the crazily laden carts, but I couldn't have captured it all, not even close. What one instant the camera captured changed as swiftly as the van was going, always something else, something I'd never seen before. Lakes filled with lotus, houses just barely holding back the jungle, people waist-deep in water with huge nets.

The further we got, the shops vanished into endless landscapes full of water, a few high palm trees; or maybe the jungle creeping up to the side of the road, a narrow strip of pavement parting the green sea. Small villages were scattered along the route, a gathering of houses and the same shops, selling water and noodle soup and shampoo and every other knick knack anyone might need.

The cows are white, or light brown, and big boned, but skinny. I thought they were statues at first until I saw one of them moving, as they are that statuesque and odd, their skin hanging limply from their jutting hip bones and wide ribs. Some are less skinny, but none of the fat black and white variety in your ideal vision with the white picket fence.

We stopped a couple times, once at a market on the side of the road with hole-in-the-floor bathrooms and an army of little girls selling bananas and mangoes, ice cream, what-have-you. They ran towards us as we exited the vehicle, shouting to be noticed, and clambered at the van's open door. I was thinking about buying something, but changed my mind, despite the pleas of the young girl at my side. "What do you want, sister?" she asked. "I have it."

I looked at her eyes, sincere and fierce, and shook my head. "No," I said, "I'm sorry."

The second stop, at the biggest city between Phnom Penh and Siem Reap -- Kampong Thom, I think -- was at a restaurant, and the passengers ordered noodle soups and ate while I wandered, bought an ice cream and chatted up the other woman in the van, an Irish woman living just outside of Siem Reap. Her sandwich, a baguette with pate, some kind of sauce, and pickled veggies, looked so good I had to get one for myself.

By the time we arrived in Siem Reap, a mess of hotels and restaurants and lights, even more crazy than Phnom Penh, I was dragging. I had been warned that the van would try to make the foreigners get out way out of town, and they did, but they said it was the last stop for everybody and I didn't have the energy to fight. A very friendly Khmer was waiting to set me up with a tuk tuk.

He chatted amiably, wanting to know how long I was staying, if I was going to see Angkor Wat, and if I was volunteering. No, I said, teaching dance. "Oh! You are a dancer!" he said, very impressed, and it warmed my heart a little. Always nice to get someone who thinks what you do is cool.

He instructed the tuk tuk driver, who headed off and naturally got lost, but thankfully I was able to call my contact in Phnom Penh and have him talk to the driver. As it turns out we were just around the corner, and I was shown into this beautiful little inn, where I am now staying. It is a single room, and very close to the Old Market Area, which is where all the restaurants are.

I found the bike waiting for me, a tiny little thing and a total piece of ----, but hey, it will function and I took it off to the nearest possible restaurant for a pizza. Since then, I've been unpacking, enjoying having a hot shower for the first time in two months, and generally zoning out. It will be an early bed, for sure...

Check out the pics below. I may have to resurrect my photobucket for this trip...

In the tuktuk heading to the bus station in Phnom Penh

Going over the bridge, leaving the main Phnom Penh

A heavily laded tuktuk we passed on the way. 

Long stretches of nothing but sky and water...

My room in Siem Reap! 

Visiting, living, and the shame of not seeing the sights

I am about to make an illogical statement:

I have serious travel inertia.

This might sound odd coming from a girl who has, multiple times, upped and moved to a new country or state, knowing one or no people at the destination city, and recently jetted off to the other side of the world on a one-way ticket.

But let me explain.

Having now been in Phnom Penh for over two months, I'm starting to get the questions about where I've been and what I've seen, inside the city and country, and outside. Today -- National Museum? No. Tuol Sleng, the genocide museum? No. The Killing Fields? Not that either. What about around Cambodia? No. Thailand? Laos? Vietnam? No, no, and no.

They all happen to be on my list of things I'd like to see, sure. It does seem a bit silly to be in this region of the world and not go voyaging, and especially the things in Phnom Penh, and I do feel a bit guilty about it. Sometimes I see the tourists flocking around Wat Phnom -- which I have to go by every day on my way to work -- and I reliably think, I should probably check that out too.

But in reality, unless there's a good opportunity or I have serious reason to want to do so, I don't. My excuses are the usual -- no money, don't want to go alone, don't know where is good, don't know how to organize it. All of them are perfectly well solvable and avoidable.

And yet the fact remains that, unless the opportunity comes knocking, the chances of me actually organizing a trip to Vietnam by myself, for example, are pretty darn slim.

I don't really know what to do about it. Like I said, I feel kind of guilty that I'm in the region and just doing my thing in Phnom Penh, but maybe that's just it -- I'm not really here to visit. I came here to work, and to make stuff happen. I'm doing that. I came here to live. I'm doing that too.

I suppose it all works out in the end. I've noticed it enough, though, to realize it's just something in me. If I have good reason to go, I do, in somewhat spectacular fashion. If I don't, I don't.

For better or for worse, I guess...

Tuesday Night Chatter

I feel like I talk a lot about my dishes on this blog. I really didn't intend for that to happen, especially because I'm sure you don't care about my dishes or the fact that however much I think I do them, they always pile up and I always ask -- like the internet can really help me with this problem -- why they do that. I guess I just wanted to apologize for the amount of bandwidth my dishes take up.

We could probably get into a discussion now about how much bandwidth I just took up to even have this discussion, but that is getting too meta for a Tuesday night after a long day, and I don't have the energy. Let me just go cackle about how ridiculous this is and I'll get back to you in a second.

I haven't really started work for my new job as executive assistant -- another part time thing that thankfully does not require me to be anywhere for any length of time, just reliably connected to the internet -- and I don't, in fact, get to wear a suit and sensible heels and follow my boss around with a clipboard and a bluetooth. That's kind of disappointing but I'm sure despite this it will be great fun.

Maybe it's due to the fact that I'm currently pumping out creative litters and am always thinking about something, but my sleeping habits have drastically changed. While at the beginning of my stay here I was happily going to be at ten or ten thirty, or sometimes even earlier -- and honestly, there wasn't a ton else to keep me up and that's fine with me -- recently I'll notice sometime around eleven that I'm still not in bed. Usually that's cause for me to be like, huh, yeah so maybe I should go to bed. But I'm not particularly tired during the day, so I guess it's not a bad thing and whenever I need more sleep my body will probably let me know.

It is, however, odd, because I'm used to needing naps if I get less than eight hours a night, but -- still to my chagrin -- I'm not really dancing right now. I bike everywhere and I guess that counts as exercise, but maybe it's not the same and maybe a half hour of biking and laying on the brakes every two seconds doesn't do the same as a hour and a half dance class.

Not that I mind the whole creative litter thing. I think it's fantastic and just way too much fun, and I think maybe I'll just live my whole damn life like this.

Hey, why wouldn't you, right??

The amaretto creamer stuff I bought was really a genius move, but I did realize that it doesn't really help me when I want my afternoon tea, so I had to go back and get some soy milk, but I have a suspicion that the soy milk I bought -- and didn't really examine that closely -- is somehow sweetened, because the mac n' cheese I made was a lot sweeter than it really should be and was therefore kind of crap, which was annoying because I was really looking forward to it.

I'm not obligated to be anywhere tomorrow morning, at least not according to my google calendar, which is currently taking over my existence. I don't know if there is literally something wired in my brain that physically writing stuff down helps me remember, or if I was actually this attached at the hip to my planner, but since I transitioned over to google calendar I feel totally helpless. I have to ask google to tell me what I'm doing, or at least what I'm supposed to be doing.

I think, however, I actually did reference my planner just this much, it was just around more often. I suppose that's why people have smart phones.

Just add it to the wishlist...

I discovered last night, when I wasn't sleeping, that my new camera has all sorts of fancy settings, including one called 'Beauty Fix' where you can have it put makeup on you, with somewhat terrifying results. I'll have to experiment with it and post it here, but the one it tried to do for me just ended up looking like an alien.

It also takes 3D photos, which explains the somewhat random 3D glasses in the box with all the cables. I haven't yet tried, but you can bet that whenever I have some time and nothing better to do, I'll do so. I'm quite skeptical, actually. I think it will be a very fake 3D, but hey, we'll see. I actually did catch myself the other night wondering if I took a 3D photo, then took a photo of the photo through the blue lens, a photo through the red lens, if I could smash the two together and make a 3D image on my computer without the need of glasses.

I think that was about the point when I thought, okay no actually I should go to bed, but I still wonder. And I was talking about meta earlier...

I'm going to wrap this up before I talk myself into anymore circles. I'm still open for questions if you happen to have any. Or I'll just continue on my merry meta way...

Halfway across town on a wild goose chase

So it's Sunday, and I'm thinking, just laze at home, or go try to run some errands? I had been planning to go to the market and buy a camera, but thanks to the fact that opening a bank account is much more complicated than previously anticipated, the needed money was still tied up in check form and totally UN-useful.

I decided, what hey, may as well go. I had two specific things in mind  -- a Khmer dictionary, and cheese for a ladies night later on. Easy enough to find, you might think.

It was the bookstores that posed problems. I wanted to find Boston Book Company, but no map existed on the internet and house numbers are totally useless as they don't go in chronological order. The internet also told me that street 240 doesn't extend to the other side of Norodom, which it does.

In other words: I went for a joyride along the wrong side of 240 and in trying to make a U-turn without looking behind me precisely as I was about to do so, almost got broadsided by an upcoming moto. It was my fault and we both knew it, and backed away, him shaken and somewhat frustrated, and me with my tail between my legs. Driving is dangerous here. Maybe I didn't mention that yet.

I did not discover the bookstore, though I did discover A bookstore, called D's Books, a little hole-in-the-wall used book place. I decided to stop anyway and wander around, but there were no dictionaries to be found. Just a bunch of Alice Hoffman books I've been wanting to read, and Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury. I didn't end up buying anything, but it was a close thing.

I decided perhaps I hadn't gone far enough on 240, so backtracked all the way, taking a bit of a roundabout way trying to avoid a similar near-accident, but I got all the way to the Riverside and still no Boston Book company in sight. There was, however, a Dairy Queen, and I stopped for a much needed blizzard.

With that out of the way, I decided to stop by Monument Books, which I knew would probably have the dictionary but probably for very expensive, but it was close by and I figured I could just stop by the nearby supermarket, Paragon, and make things simple for myself.

Monument Books did, certainly, have the dictionary I wanted, but for nineteen dollars. I found that a bit ridiculous for a small paperback book -- well, a lot ridiculous -- and decided to try and find what I thought was called "ABC books" that a friend of mine had told me about. She said it was on Monivong and since I remembered seeing something with ABC down by Mao Tse Toung, I went there.

By this time, of course, I was hot and thirsty, this being the middle of a very toasty afternoon with just a brief stop in the air-conditioning to break up the monotony, and while Phnom Penh is small, I was definitely getting around on the bike.

ABC books of course turned out to be a bakery, and at last giving up on the dictionary, I went back up to Sihanouk blvd and went to Lucky supermarket for the cheese.

Later that night, I learned that it was actually "IBC" I should have been looking for, and a check today showed it to be just next door to Lucky. I went and purchased the thing for under two dollars this morning.

Live and learn, right? I also bought a camera, a beauty of a thing by Olympus, and plan to make good use of it. Stand by.

Getting a moto, and other luxuries

For the first time in a long time, I have a bit of disposable income. I've never been the type to go on crazy spending sprees, but there are certain things you can do when you don't have to think before spending three dollars on something.

Such as: when the power goes out, instead of knocking about the house and staring at the walls, or maybe spending as little as possible on a coffee, I went to a cafe and made breakfast out of the deal. It was air-conditioned, I got some work done, and it was much nicer than staring at the ceiling fan and begrudging it for not moving.

Or, when hanging out with a friend and they invite you to dinner, being able to agree without putting the responsibility on them to pay for you. (We went to a very lovely Japanese restaurant, and left with lunch enough for three people in leftovers).

But one of the stranger luxuries is taking a moto, or a tuk tuk.

I complain about them all the time. By now I've almost gotten used to it, the drivers leaping up with huge grins on their faces to shout "Tuk tuk Lady?" or "Lady, moto?", or clamoring in hoards outside the bars, trying to be the first one to be noticed. Or congregating on the street corners, or outside popular cafes, just chilling out until they spot a potential client, raising the one finger (index, thank you very much) call. If you just shake your head, they don't usually bug you anymore.

To go anywhere on a moto is around one dollar, in a tuk tuk, two. In either case, it adds up, and biking is almost always quicker, as bizarre as that is. Tuk tuks putter along impossibly slowly, and while the motos do go faster, they are probably much more dangerous.

And yet.

I don't know what it is, about sitting on the back of a moto, or leaning back in a tuk tuk and bouncing over the potholes. In the tuk tuk there's still something glamorous, to me at least, like riding in a carriage (hello inner Cinderella), and the moto, something so free about just being there and letting someone else drive, however badly they may do so.

Or maybe it's just not being on the bike, not having to push your own weight along, or pay attention at every second - literally, every single second, because the second you stop, there WILL be a moto turning into the wrong lane, there WILL be someone in front of you deciding to turn, there WILL be a moto zooming behind the car that stopped for you.

Either way, when my friend came to pick me up in a tuk tuk, it felt like such a luxury. After a long afternoon drinking homemade cappuccinos and eating cheese and crackers, I flagged a moto, and it was again this fabulous luxury. In fact, really any time I let myself take a moto, I love it.

I haven't quite figured out why, but it's enough to stash it under my list of treats, and I gotta say it's not an item I ever thought would be on there!

Some days...

You just have to quit.

Prahok is a common Cambodian seasoning, often used in soups. It's earned the nickname "Khmer cheese", though I have not been able to figure out why. A quick look at wikipedia tells me it's a paste made from fermented fish and something else, and well, either way --

It was in the soup I had for lunch, and I am not a happy camper. 

I'm including this in the blog because it's part of it. Tomorrow marks the end of my second month here, and the previous two have been one long adjustment process, whether it be in attitude, culture, body, mind, spirit, etc. 

People are not standing on their heads here, but the world is literally upside-down. My students have started friending me on Facebook and it's making me wonder what their lives are like, have been like, will be like. I don't know, and probably never will, know what their day to day existence is like, and nor them, mine. That doesn't mean we aren't or can't be friends, or that we aren't more similar than probably either of us would think. 

It just does make me think, at times like this, when I am feeling really far from home and projecting my anger at the over-fermented prahok onto the country as a whole, which isn't fair at all but hey, let's talk more tomorrow. My day to day life is not ridiculously altered, but yet fundamentally, it is. 

Sometimes it's a lot like home. Sometimes it's not. And sometimes I sit back and think and realize that no, everything is different here. 

My sympathetic co-worker said it like this, "Some foreigners can't take the Khmer cheese."

That is what I am here, a foreigner. As always when I make statements like that, I don't mean it in a bad way. It's just the way it is. It is foreign to me and I am foreign to it. 

Even getting used the fact of being a foreigner is foreign. The circles never end, and sometimes it gets really tiring. If everything was the same, but people stood on their heads, I think it might be less strange. 

I am literally on the other side of the world, and most of the time I don't really notice. Gravity works the same here, after all. But some days, I do, and others, I'm forced to. 

All part of the adventure, as much as I wish sometimes it weren't. But if it wasn't...well, of course it wouldn't be the same, now would it?

UPDATE: By the evening the prahok had found its way out, and I was able to munch on bread and rice for dinner. I am now sitting in my fantastic little solar, playing stupid computer games, and am back to being okay with life. It doesn't change the point of this post, but I thought you might want to know.  

Tuesday Night Chatter

It is interesting being able to actually see this new tattoo, as my first was (is) on my back and involves twisting in all sorts of funky ways to see, even with a mirror. Hence with this one I can see all the stages of healing, like the current strange, inky scabby state it is in, and yes I know that was too much information, but this is TNC and I get to blather about whatever it is on my mind. And subject you to it. (Cue the evil laugh).

At least it has stopped leaking ink, which it did just for a day at the start. I didn't worry too much about it because the internet told me that's normal, if nevertheless quite alarming. Either way, it looks very healthy, so my instincts about the place's cleanliness and Chickie's care were correct.

Sometime I think the extent to which I live in the now is a little ridiculous: I had a long weekend and started to get quite bored and therefore homesick, but then today when the madness started anew that is all forgotten.

I just discovered the wonders of google calendar and am wondering if telling it to email me with all the things I need to do and will most likely remember -- but always run the risk of spacing completely -- will be genius or really annoying. I suppose we'll find out soon enough. Since my day planner got stolen I've been using this mini notebook as such, but I don't really look at it most of the time and rely on my memory, which is good enough, until it's not.

There are still things falling from the sky. I am somewhat leery about having enough time to actually do it, but I have been asked to be someone's executive assistant -- flexible hours and not in the office, so I've been told -- which I think is pretty cool. I'm attempting to choreograph the first dance for someone's wedding, still working on the translation project, and in the meantime working a part time job that demands a hell of a lot of attention and creativity.

The job, therefore, is of course fantastic, even though I've spent the past two weeks just trying to figure out how to keep everyone's to do lists in working condition. I'm not really sure how much I'm allowed to talk about what I do there, because it's in the legal field and therefore all strictly confidential and I signed a contract saying I won't talk about things, and I won't open a competing business. (Which is highly unlikely, anyway you cut it.)

I'm not making much sense to myself tonight, which I think is a function of having to think all day long. I had a great meeting over lunch about the public performance idea for my workshop kids, which is naturally more complicated than just plopping them onstage, though for the majority of it we were busy wondering where the hell our food was -- we'd gone to the café next door to my house, and apparently the kitchen had a total breakdown, because there is no other possible explanation for how terrible the service was.

Half an hour after ordering we were told that they were out of what Frances had gotten, and some forty five minutes later it finally came. I got a club sandwich, which was depressingly small considering how ravenous I'd become during the wait.

We paid and left as quickly as possible with solemn promises never to return, and went for coffee and cookies to Java. It just seemed kind of necessary after the previous ordeal.

I suppose what I mean to say is that I'm busy again, which is always better for me. I function better when I have things to do with my life. With everything coming up, I don't think I risk to spend a lot of time bored -- besides the actual paid work which is thankfully coming out my ears, I'm still thinking about that fusion idea and just met someone interested in exploring dance and film....

Well, I guess you could say life is pretty cool.

(And I still am terrible at doing those stupid dishes.)

Market OD (No seriously)

Orussey Market has probably gotten a mention on here before in my overall description of markets. It has probably been in the form of  complaints about the fact that it leaks out the sides and I can never find the tiny side street somewhere around it that has the bikes because apparently the sheer amount of stuff that needs to be sold just can't fit inside, so whole side streets are dedicated to the excess.

I had previously never set foot inside, just seen it, like a giant parking garage that has been taken over. The street that winds around the outside is technically one-way but nobody pays much attention to that anyway. Some parking here, mostly just billions of umbrellas hiding more wares. I knew it was overwhelming.

And then I went inside.

I don't know how many floors there are. Three at least, though I wouldn't be surprised to find more. Each level is packed to the gills with stalls and aisles roughly a foot wide between each. Things are grouped by type, and on the third floor, where my friend and I found ourselves, it's all jewelry, beauty products, and clothes.

So many clothes. Jeans for ridiculously tiny asses but mostly a million different kinds of shirts. Some for men but mostly for women. From traditional blouses to the modern n'importe quoi, T-shirts ranging from weird and Asian to cute and Asian to totally inappropriate to fashionable to ridiculous Engrish. Shirts of every cut and style, then if that wasn't enough, there are stalls upon stalls of fabric -- embroidered, gaudy, colorful, traditional, god only knows what.

When you hit the jewelry, it's a mass of shiny objects, from tiaras to rings, and about a thousand of them in each stall. They look like costume jewelry and probably are, but the vendors try to sell them for 15 bucks for a bracelet, and say "No discount", with varying degrees of friendliness.

Food vendors come through all the time, selling anything from fried tarantula to soda.

I am trying to paint a picture like this: massive amounts of human life, materials, and much more of it than you'd ever think would be possible in one place.

My friend said, let me know if you start to feel claustrophobic. I said no worries, I'll be okay. It's just busy, right? But I noticed about ten minutes in that my body was acting in a very strange way. I felt jumpy, shaky, and anxious. My limbs were started to get oddly weak and my heart was pounding.

I thought, is this really happening? Is this really the market? Is there really such great energy here that it is doing this to me?

I sat down. I took a few breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth, and did the best energy block I know of, imagining being surrounded by water, like the fountains at the Bellagio.

Suddenly, things got better, and I was forced to admit that yes, that was just a serious energy overload. I followed my friend around peaceably for the next twenty minutes, looking through all the crazy shirts, but when we got out at last and headed to a café for much needed air conditioning and a frappe, I was dead tired.

It started to rain and all I was able to do was stare blankly out the window and watch the tuk tuks stopping to roll down their windows, or giggle at the guy who was literally carrying around a table umbrella like a giant walking tent. But I was just not there, like some part of me had been sucked away. I was left with a fierce desire for quiet, to curl up on my couch and not deal with anything.

When the madness died down, I got on the bike and went home, and despite it being close to five, I crashed.

A half hour of strange dreams later, I returned to the world and was back in one piece. I even went out and joined the same friend for a last happy hour as she is sadly leaving town, and peaceably spent the night drinking sangria and later on gorging myself on a feast of Indonesian food -- there were six of us, and we did it tapas style, everyone sharing everything, and it was brilliant. I am still recovering from the food coma, in fact...

But it was seriously like an overdose. I even had to sleep it off. Apparently you have to build tolerance for Orussey, according to my friend, and I don't doubt it.  But at the same time, I think it's probably one of the best places to find the "real" Phnom Penh, and not just the glossy expat version.

Still, for those of us uninitiated -- to be partaken with discretion.

Too many mirrors, Khmer fusion bands, and the blue moon

I suppose technically it wasn't the blue moon because it is September now (say what??), but it was a blue moon in the US and either way it was a full moon, making lunatics of us all.

The evening started in this place called the "Sky bar", which is eight floors up and is probably the first time in eight weeks I've been up higher than five stories or so. It was in one of the new buildings on Sihanouk boulevard, sleek and modern and therefore totally incongruous. The elevator and the stairs up to the bar -- which is apparently also a Chinese restaurant -- are all black mirrors.

The bar itself is a maze of reflective surfaces and manages to give off the impression that there are mirrors everywhere, though I think there are actually none. There are old elevator shafts, or maybe they are just designed to look as such, with artfully lit art installations, things that look like slender silver tree trunks. The restaurant section was wrapped around the bar, little rooms like train compartments next to the full glass walls, red furniture and silver columns like windows.

It was disorienting and dizzying and extraordinarily beautiful, and I never got used to the fact that what I thought should be mirrors weren't. We sat at the bar, shiny black tiles, silver, and the aquariums on the other side with a few crabs lazily floating about.

A couple raspberry mojitos later, my friend had to head off and I just jaunted around the corner to street 278, which is this tiny little street lined with very cute little bars. The most famous, and much larger than I expected due to an expansive back and a hidden second floor, is called Equinox. I met up with a couple girl friends, who were there with a larger group. With seven of us at a table and adding chairs, the staff had to ask us to move out of their way or split up. We choose the former, but soon enough we heard the band had started on the second floor and made our way up to check it out.

The band, I later learned, was called Cambodian Space Project. They are a Khmer fusion band -- most of the musicians, at least as far as I could see/hear, were Australian, while the main vocalist was a Khmer woman. She sang in both Khmer and English, and the music was a mix of styles, but they were very good and we had a great time bopping away to the beat.

The venue, I should note, was really interesting, mostly for the huge shadow puppets hung on the wall, like those I saw at Sovanna Phum, with their intricate designs and strange material.

When the band went on a break, I decided to get home -- thanks to being up early every day this week I woke up promptly at 8:30, so I was starting to fade. But that was when the full moon madness began to set in -- at least, I'm going to blame it on the full moon because I can't figure out what else it might have been from and I wasn't the only one it happened to.

I didn't have nearly enough to drink to account for it, either. I couldn't sleep, and lay in a sort of haze of odd dreams, until I at last went into a proper sleep sometime around four in the morning, and woke up feeling very blah. A good amount of water didn't do much to help, and I sort of lazed through the day, until I started to feel better around four -- after watching a couple episodes of Community with a friend, which I give full healing credit to.

It was very odd, but fortunately the expression is once in a blue moon for a reason, and thankfully the lunacy only hit when I got home, and the rest of the night was lovely. Phnom Penh is becoming much more comfortable, in that I no longer feel totally and constantly displaced. I still notice the differences, but less so.

You'd hope -- as utterly strange as it is, by the end of this week I will have been here a full two months.

How THAT happened, I really couldn't tell you.

Inked

I have been wanting a second tattoo for quite awhile now, and have had it on my wish list for several months. I was thinking that since it didn't happen in New York, it wasn't going to, but then I heard there were some tattoo parlors here.

Admittedly quite wary, I headed out on reconnaissance, checking into the various places. I wanted someplace clean, clearly, and dedicated to the art of it, and stumbled upon RSD Tattoo, the biggest place around. The pictures online portrayed it as being very clean and nice, and they advertised getting their ink specially.

I decided to check it out and preview it, see how much it would cost. Tattoos are usually pretty expensive and I was thinking it was going to be somewhere around a hundred, which is what I paid for my last one.

It was on the side of the road, like the restaurant, open to the street, but inside very cool and modern, sleek red furniture. Occupied by the usual assortment of young guys with their own tattoos and crazy hair. I showed them my design, and got a quote -- 35 bucks.

Immediately my resolve to wait until pay day began dissolving.

I came back an hour later.

The actual room was inside, sterile, with two beds and the needles in separate, sterilized packaging. My artist was a young guy with no visible tattoos, but a bright fire engine red faux hawk, and an outfit to match his hair -- black tee and bright red pants. His name was "Chickie", and set the stencil, got everything ready, started up the music - hip hop and 80's pop -- and set to with great care.

I had decided from the beginning that I would know if the energy was good or not, and it felt good as soon as I saw the place. When I decided to go for it, I was literally giddy, and the whole time Chickie was working I lay there and thought, I love it, I love it, I love it.

A little under an hour later, this perfect, lovely, and delicate little fairy was settled on my hip. He checked it several times, added some extra shading here and there, and then sat back to see if I was okay with it.

The result is this:

I love it. So, so much.