It's not quite Tuesday night yet -- and I've been convinced all day that's Friday (which always makes for an unhappy surprise) -- but after my Khmer lesson I'm going to a Halloween party at a good friend's apartment and I wanted to get this written first. I'm repeating costumes from last year and going again as MJ, except this year I have a wig. Be afraid.
The new apartment is nice but it still feels like somewhere I'm staying and not home. It's been making me actually quite homesick the past couple days, I think because it is not yet a "safe place" that is recognizable and comfortable. I know in a few weeks that will fade, but at the moment it's definitely odd.
It's also a new neighborhood, and definitely not an expat one. On the one hand, that's great, but on the other, the guys haven't yet figured out that I live here and therefore there is no end to the comments and kissing noises when I'm biking or walking around.
Sometimes it's just a more or less suggestive "hello" shouted from the side of the street, but sometimes -- like this morning when I was trying to find the nearest market and got somehow in the middle of a motorcycle market area -- they scream unrepeatable things as you bike away, probably in a desperate attempt to get you to look around. I never do.
It's not unique to this country, of course, you get it everywhere, but it's still really annoying. Harassment is never cool, and I always have to resist the temptation to retort with something like, Okay, I get it, I'm white and a girl, now can we please move on? And by the way, shouting at me does not make you sexy. Thanks.
I did manage to find the fruits, though, and picked up some goodies for the week. I do kind of miss my friend the fruitseller at the other market, but it is too far to bike all the way over there when the other market is so close -- and, if I'm right, cheaper.
One of my favorite fruits here is the pomello and I bought one this morning. My friend used to peel them for me, but this one came as it does from the tree, leaving me the task of unpeeling it for an after work snack. It's quite the workout; on the outside is a fairly tough green skin that smells vaguely of sap, and underneath that is about an inch worth of this kind of pink foamy substance, which has to be pried off the fruit.
When at last I dug my thumbs into the main fruit and split it open, I was sweating and had a great sense of accomplishment -- and yes, it was very yummy too. First pomello peeled successfully. Score.
As part of missing home, I found myself missing the cold and the seasons change. The seasons do not change here, and it's always very strange for me to think that it is almost November -- is it really? I keep sort of hoping it will get cooler here, but I think that might be a vain hope. Hey, a girl can hope, right?
Tomorrow is a day off, which is good as I didn't have much of a weekend, and the rest of the week promises to be busy as always.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Oh, is that what happened?
The other day, a dear friend commented on a facebook photo how glad she was to see how I've embraced Cambodia.
To be honest, I looked at the comment and thought, "Is that what I've done?" I kind of feel like I resisted doing so, muttering and bad-tempered and weaving through traffic, except when it comes to my students and my work, of course.
Is that what I did? Embrace Cambodia? Is that how I now very much despite myself find myself thinking seriously about staying much longer than anticipated?
When the heck did that happen?
I guess during all the moments when I had -- and still don't -- no idea what was going on or how to begin to talk about it, when I couldn't say anything but hey, it's happening and I'm still running. Whenever I wasn't paying attention, maybe that's when it happened, when I wasn't homesick or thinking damn-it-I'm-learning-a-lot-but-get-me-the-hell-out-in-eight-months, that somehow my feet just sunk into the soil and the roots starting wrapping up my body.
I guess it's the transition from 'project' to just 'living'. I am used to moving on and moving along, enough time for a project or a semester or a summer, and then kiss whatever's there goodbye and start anew. I do it a lot and get myself into tricky situations constantly of having to leave behind lives, people, and work that I love dearly. In fact, one of the times I did that was in Paris and I still, no matter what happens here, intend on returning long term at some point before too long.
But if everything goes well -- I should know by the end of the week -- I'm thinking that maybe it is time to stop my mad globe-trotting and settle to do something for real, spend a little more time building houses instead of just laying foundations.
The fact that it's happening while I'm here -- is that embracing Cambodia? Is that what I'm doing?
If it is --
I did it behind my own back.
To be honest, I looked at the comment and thought, "Is that what I've done?" I kind of feel like I resisted doing so, muttering and bad-tempered and weaving through traffic, except when it comes to my students and my work, of course.
Is that what I did? Embrace Cambodia? Is that how I now very much despite myself find myself thinking seriously about staying much longer than anticipated?
When the heck did that happen?
I guess during all the moments when I had -- and still don't -- no idea what was going on or how to begin to talk about it, when I couldn't say anything but hey, it's happening and I'm still running. Whenever I wasn't paying attention, maybe that's when it happened, when I wasn't homesick or thinking damn-it-I'm-learning-a-lot-but-get-me-the-hell-out-in-eight-months, that somehow my feet just sunk into the soil and the roots starting wrapping up my body.
I guess it's the transition from 'project' to just 'living'. I am used to moving on and moving along, enough time for a project or a semester or a summer, and then kiss whatever's there goodbye and start anew. I do it a lot and get myself into tricky situations constantly of having to leave behind lives, people, and work that I love dearly. In fact, one of the times I did that was in Paris and I still, no matter what happens here, intend on returning long term at some point before too long.
But if everything goes well -- I should know by the end of the week -- I'm thinking that maybe it is time to stop my mad globe-trotting and settle to do something for real, spend a little more time building houses instead of just laying foundations.
The fact that it's happening while I'm here -- is that embracing Cambodia? Is that what I'm doing?
If it is --
I did it behind my own back.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Come for the circus, stay for the story: Sokha
This country defies expectations.
You think you've got it pinned, you gather what knowledge you have and assess and make some kind of general assumption or theory, and then it goes away like the roads in the rainy season.
I had never seen the group Phare Ponleu Selepak, nor knew that much about it except that it was a school that taught circus (apparently among other things) and based in Battambang. I knew it was French influenced, as the website is in French, and I had heard that the work they did was fabulous.
Therefore, when I bought tickets to their current traveling show in Phnom Penh, I was expecting something Cirque du Soleil-ish, slick and artistic and impressive, where the story functions as a link between the acts.
Naturally, I found nothing of the sort. A stage set up in the middle of a huge arena -- more like a large box with a curved tin roof smacked on top -- the lighting was iffy, the sound echoe-y, and filled with the questions and shouts of the restless small children, slowly reaching their tolerance of being able to sit still. The acrobats wore simple costumes. On the sides of the stage were easels with canvases and in addition there was a highwire set up, a rolling table, and a large number of cardboard boxes, which served as set pieces.
The circus itself was rough, though still impressive. Almost purely acrobatic (no aerial acts at all), the small troupe of about eight acrobats were clearly still young and clearly still learning. They were good, certainly, but unpolished, and in fact --
The show was not at all about the circus.
It followed the story of a girl, Sokha -- the only girl in the troupe, in fact -- going through the Khmer Rouge, fleeing to America, becoming part of that culture, but then returning to Cambodia to heal and teach. It began and ended with her as an old woman, hunched and bittersweet, surrounded by her students and still haunted by her memories.
The choreography was incredible, the acrobatics integrated perfectly into the story: one of the guys handbalanced in a skull mask as his fellows stumbled around the boxes in the background, showing the systematic executions; the prisoners stumbled across the high wire as they tried to make it to safety; later in America, the death character returned to prompt Sokha's nightmares, which led her into a contortion act.
The canvases turned out to set the scene, as they had an artist with them, and painted live as part of the story. During the Khmer Rouge period, he lit paintbombs, then threw red and yellow onto the canvas, and as the story went on, he painted a skull, hideous and leering.
It wasn't all so heavy -- the darkness was balanced perfectly by the moments of levity and joy. The acrobats hammed it up and laughed freely in the moments when all was well, and stumbled and shook as prisoners.
It was impossible to sit unmoved.
I confess that at the beginning, seeing that the acrobatics were just a small step above that at some of the circus camps I did, and the iffy lights, and the terrible venue (the audience was so far, as the stage was plopped in the middle of what seemed to be a basketball court), and the many restless small children (I can't imagine why they were there, as it was NOT a show for small children), I was skeptical, but it wasn't the circus that caught me.
By the end, it was all I could to not just start sobbing in the arena, not just during the Khmer Rouge scenes, but especially at the end, watching Sokha grow old and encourage her own students, watching them grow into confident acrobats but then still caring for her. It was not a sad story, but beautiful, and very well-presented.
I have a lot more to learn about this country, I think...
You think you've got it pinned, you gather what knowledge you have and assess and make some kind of general assumption or theory, and then it goes away like the roads in the rainy season.
I had never seen the group Phare Ponleu Selepak, nor knew that much about it except that it was a school that taught circus (apparently among other things) and based in Battambang. I knew it was French influenced, as the website is in French, and I had heard that the work they did was fabulous.
Therefore, when I bought tickets to their current traveling show in Phnom Penh, I was expecting something Cirque du Soleil-ish, slick and artistic and impressive, where the story functions as a link between the acts.
Naturally, I found nothing of the sort. A stage set up in the middle of a huge arena -- more like a large box with a curved tin roof smacked on top -- the lighting was iffy, the sound echoe-y, and filled with the questions and shouts of the restless small children, slowly reaching their tolerance of being able to sit still. The acrobats wore simple costumes. On the sides of the stage were easels with canvases and in addition there was a highwire set up, a rolling table, and a large number of cardboard boxes, which served as set pieces.
The circus itself was rough, though still impressive. Almost purely acrobatic (no aerial acts at all), the small troupe of about eight acrobats were clearly still young and clearly still learning. They were good, certainly, but unpolished, and in fact --
The show was not at all about the circus.
It followed the story of a girl, Sokha -- the only girl in the troupe, in fact -- going through the Khmer Rouge, fleeing to America, becoming part of that culture, but then returning to Cambodia to heal and teach. It began and ended with her as an old woman, hunched and bittersweet, surrounded by her students and still haunted by her memories.
The choreography was incredible, the acrobatics integrated perfectly into the story: one of the guys handbalanced in a skull mask as his fellows stumbled around the boxes in the background, showing the systematic executions; the prisoners stumbled across the high wire as they tried to make it to safety; later in America, the death character returned to prompt Sokha's nightmares, which led her into a contortion act.
The canvases turned out to set the scene, as they had an artist with them, and painted live as part of the story. During the Khmer Rouge period, he lit paintbombs, then threw red and yellow onto the canvas, and as the story went on, he painted a skull, hideous and leering.
It wasn't all so heavy -- the darkness was balanced perfectly by the moments of levity and joy. The acrobats hammed it up and laughed freely in the moments when all was well, and stumbled and shook as prisoners.
It was impossible to sit unmoved.
I confess that at the beginning, seeing that the acrobatics were just a small step above that at some of the circus camps I did, and the iffy lights, and the terrible venue (the audience was so far, as the stage was plopped in the middle of what seemed to be a basketball court), and the many restless small children (I can't imagine why they were there, as it was NOT a show for small children), I was skeptical, but it wasn't the circus that caught me.
By the end, it was all I could to not just start sobbing in the arena, not just during the Khmer Rouge scenes, but especially at the end, watching Sokha grow old and encourage her own students, watching them grow into confident acrobats but then still caring for her. It was not a sad story, but beautiful, and very well-presented.
I have a lot more to learn about this country, I think...
Thursday, October 25, 2012
The stage, the dust, and the prettiest afternoon sunshine you'll ever see
It's pretty clear that the Khmer Arts company is out of town, as the normally immaculate stage was covered with a fine layer of dust, and I left footprints where I walked, the fine dust making my feet slip more than usual.
I think it was the nicest day of my entire stay here, the sky a brilliant clear blue and not a cloud to be found. The afternoon sun was hot, but not overbearing, and it had faded to a deep gold when I arrived at the Khmer Arts theater on the back of a moto, stepping into the empty theater.
Normally there are people there, rehearsing, the orchestra and the dancers together or otherwise, but today it was silent and still except for the ants and the birds and the monks on the loudspeaker from a nearby pagoda. The stage, which usually has a block or two on it, was clear, and the sun was making the temple-like building at the back stand out, playing on the green plants.
I think I could have stayed forever. I only stayed an hour, working on the Linda piece and practicing what I know of Cambodian classical dance (not much), but it was the most peaceful, quiet time. My driver chilling out in the back of the theater as he does while he's waiting, the relative quiet, and the golden sunshine.
In the middle of a week in which everything is changing and my mind is constantly racing, the time to just be with the stage and the dust was very welcome. There are some very exciting things happening and I can't confirm any of it yet because it's not set, but it's surprising and fascinating and let's just say that life does what it does and I'm just trying to keep up.
If the current things pan out, well, I think you'll be hearing about it.
In the meantime, I took one hour out of the madness to a place where the dust settles, instead of flying through the air, and the world without it was clear, golden, and quiet.
In case you haven't seen it, this is what the theater looks like:
I think it was the nicest day of my entire stay here, the sky a brilliant clear blue and not a cloud to be found. The afternoon sun was hot, but not overbearing, and it had faded to a deep gold when I arrived at the Khmer Arts theater on the back of a moto, stepping into the empty theater.
Normally there are people there, rehearsing, the orchestra and the dancers together or otherwise, but today it was silent and still except for the ants and the birds and the monks on the loudspeaker from a nearby pagoda. The stage, which usually has a block or two on it, was clear, and the sun was making the temple-like building at the back stand out, playing on the green plants.
I think I could have stayed forever. I only stayed an hour, working on the Linda piece and practicing what I know of Cambodian classical dance (not much), but it was the most peaceful, quiet time. My driver chilling out in the back of the theater as he does while he's waiting, the relative quiet, and the golden sunshine.
In the middle of a week in which everything is changing and my mind is constantly racing, the time to just be with the stage and the dust was very welcome. There are some very exciting things happening and I can't confirm any of it yet because it's not set, but it's surprising and fascinating and let's just say that life does what it does and I'm just trying to keep up.
If the current things pan out, well, I think you'll be hearing about it.
In the meantime, I took one hour out of the madness to a place where the dust settles, instead of flying through the air, and the world without it was clear, golden, and quiet.
In case you haven't seen it, this is what the theater looks like:
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Tuesday Night Chatter
The rains are drumming the roofs and the thunder is rolling the city. The wind is making the rain into sheets and little clouds of moisture, flying off the roofs in waves. When it rains like this I always wonder if it'll just pull down the sky.
The King Father's passing is messing with life here. The streets around the Royal Palace are closed, except sometimes you can still go down them and I can't figure out when or why, and traffic has gotten exponentially worse what with all the people here to pay their respects. I haven't been by the Royal Palace yet, but there are always people there. The other night there were a thousand monks praying, and I do wish I was there for that.
The clubs have been shut down and the bars aren't allowed to play music. I'm not sure how long this is supposed to last -- I had thought just a week but now the NGO is saying that we can't do the Thriller flash mob next week (would be such a bummer!!!). In three months they are having his official funeral but I think everyone is hoping this state of affairs doesn't last three months.
This morning there was a whole procession going by my window, several thousand people walking the street in their white shirts and black ribbons. I don't know why today -- maybe it's the seven day marker? Either way, it was impressive.
My life has been infinitely complicated by the arrival of something really awesome, which is a potential (probable?) job as a choreographer for the weekly concerts Cambodia Television Networks, the number 1 station in the country, puts on. It complicates my life because it almost certainly means something else has got to go, which is tough, and also it's a really, really great job, and goes on the list of things that are rooting me here.
I don't know how I can leave, and I also don't know how I can not go. I want to go home -- and that's not a question, it's staying home to produce a show (oh yes by the way that's a thing), which I really want to do and think maybe now is the right time -- but it's hard to leave so soon after starting this. I'm pretty sure I would train up one of my students to take my place, which would be good for everyone involved, but -- not ideal.
I don't know. I have no clue. I guess I need to see how this goes for the next couple months. I was not formally offered a job, but I was told to look at the stuff they prepare for me and then come back with a schedule and a proposed salary, which I take to mean they want to work with me.
I would dearly love to just do dance and choreograph all day, which I think I have the opportunity to do. The question is how to gracefully quit my only non-arts related job without screwing over my boss and not feeling totally guilty, which will be a tricky maze to tiptoe.
My Khmer tutor today told me he thinks I understand a lot. I was quite proud of myself, especially since -- with many pauses to write down words I don't know and speaking very slowly -- we spent the first half hour talking about this new job and I was able to more or less tell him what was going on.
Mostly, I'm just torn. There are a lot of opposing wishes in my heart/mind right now, and I'm not sure how to deal with them yet. I think this is one of those times when "sleep on it" is a highly appropriate expression.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
This Week Happened
And that's about as much as I can tell you, I think.
Tuesday Night Chatter vanished, and I realized on Wednesday which by then is far too late. This post has now been open for about an hour, while I stare at it and wonder how to begin. This is a familiar refrain to you now, I'm sure, Gillian struggling with language, trying to take a thousand small infinities and fit them into a few pixels of text on an LSD screen.
Let me start here: my attention the past two days (and before, I guess) has been entirely occupied by two things --- the public performance for my students, and finding a new apartment.
For the former, I finally sat down with them -- most of them -- and managed to hash out more or less what I'm expecting from them and what they want to do and when they can rehearse. That in itself was somewhat of a nightmare, as I returned home that evening with 14 excel spreadsheets with Xs all over them and needed to smash them all together into a comprehensive rehearsal schedule that would 1) work for all of them, and 2) not require me to quit my day job and just rehearse with them all the time.
There are still three of them that have not yet told me how many dancers and which dancers they want to work with, making it utterly impossible for me to schedule anything, plus another one who was not at the meeting and apparently wants to join.
Half of them were a half hour late, which does not bode well for my attempt to drill professionalism in them, but I guess it means there is room to grow. I had a translator and did not tell them I don't plan on using one for the project, but they'll figure that out pretty darn quick. It was mostly just an exercise in watching the X's cover up the pages and watching them bicker about who was going to dance in who's piece and when that might happen.
Well, hey, all projects start in chaos, right? As a measure of how much I've been thinking/worrying about it, I spent the entire night last night having anxiety dreams about it, of them not taking the rehearsals seriously and playing cards or generally goofing off, while I try in vain to get them to work on their pieces. Unlikely -- very -- to actually happen, but still vexing.
Thankfully I had google calendar on my side. My computer looked like this:
Tuesday Night Chatter vanished, and I realized on Wednesday which by then is far too late. This post has now been open for about an hour, while I stare at it and wonder how to begin. This is a familiar refrain to you now, I'm sure, Gillian struggling with language, trying to take a thousand small infinities and fit them into a few pixels of text on an LSD screen.
Let me start here: my attention the past two days (and before, I guess) has been entirely occupied by two things --- the public performance for my students, and finding a new apartment.
For the former, I finally sat down with them -- most of them -- and managed to hash out more or less what I'm expecting from them and what they want to do and when they can rehearse. That in itself was somewhat of a nightmare, as I returned home that evening with 14 excel spreadsheets with Xs all over them and needed to smash them all together into a comprehensive rehearsal schedule that would 1) work for all of them, and 2) not require me to quit my day job and just rehearse with them all the time.
There are still three of them that have not yet told me how many dancers and which dancers they want to work with, making it utterly impossible for me to schedule anything, plus another one who was not at the meeting and apparently wants to join.
Half of them were a half hour late, which does not bode well for my attempt to drill professionalism in them, but I guess it means there is room to grow. I had a translator and did not tell them I don't plan on using one for the project, but they'll figure that out pretty darn quick. It was mostly just an exercise in watching the X's cover up the pages and watching them bicker about who was going to dance in who's piece and when that might happen.
Well, hey, all projects start in chaos, right? As a measure of how much I've been thinking/worrying about it, I spent the entire night last night having anxiety dreams about it, of them not taking the rehearsals seriously and playing cards or generally goofing off, while I try in vain to get them to work on their pieces. Unlikely -- very -- to actually happen, but still vexing.
Thankfully I had google calendar on my side. My computer looked like this:
Success. I did have to go out and have a drink after that though...I really do hate scheduling. I long for the days when I have dancers who are just in my company and will be readily available...
As far as finding an apartment, that's been a bit of an adventure. I was trying to rent a room somewhere but with no real leads, someone contacted me to ask if I wanted to go in to find a 2bed together. We picked up a third person -- as 3 is cheaper than 2 -- and quickly found a great place, in a good location, but then the third person inexplicably bailed at the last second. Apparently it was too far to walk and she was afraid to bike. Good luck spending 5 months here...!!!
The search for a third person has commenced and seems to be going smoothly. The good part of all of that was practicing my Khmer with the very friendly agent, who eventually did figure out that I wasn't going to go for his advances, but either way he was sweet. My Khmer is bad but for the amount of time I've been learning, I think it's pretty good.
In either case, I should be moving in about a week -- and will reduce my expenses by half. Score.
Until next time...
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
The King-Father comes home
I heard the news on Monday. If you just look at the global websites, you'd probably miss it. Maybe you'd wonder why there were so many people in white, and maybe if you were looking, you'd notice the black fabric going up along Norodom, the flags at half-mast. By this morning, living here it would be hard not to know -- to find on the internet, it takes some digging.
By Monday night, my Facebook news feed was overflowing with pictures and comments. Profile pictures were being changed, pictures were being shared lightning fast.
The news is this: one of the most towering and most beloved figures in Cambodian history, the King-Father Norodom Sihanouk, died Monday in Beijing. He was 89. His biography is long and fascinating, but I won't go into it here. I will say that King Sihanouk was a controversial figure to say the least, known as a hero of independence and for making the very ill-fated decision to support the Pol Pot regime and the Khmer Rouge in its beginning stages. And yet, despite being somewhat responsible for the profound suffering of the Khmer people --
They love him. Adore, even. The news of his death was received with overwhelming grief and mourning. The pictures on my Facebook honored him, a shrine was immediately set up in front of the Royal Palace, and today when the King-Father's body came home for the final time, hundreds of thousands of people lined the streets to greet him.
I know that because I was trying to get home right about when the coffin arrived and found myself completely blocked in. I couldn't take Norodom because it was closed, I couldn't cross Sihanouk, and to get to Monivong on the other side would involve crossing Russian Blvd, and that was closed too. I biked up and down the city, trying to figure out what to do.
I could have just parked and stayed. I did want to see the coffin, and be a part of the event, but there was something holding me back. Maybe it was just in my mind -- things often are -- but the fact is, Norodom Sihanouk was not my King-Father. I didn't -- and still don't -- know that much about him. I didn't live his choices. I never saw him on TV, or met him, or heard anything about him. I see how much his death means to the people around me, but I can't, and don't know how to, relate.
That wasn't why I didn't just park and watch though. The real reason is that I didn't want to be another spectacle. I didn't want it to be about the one lost Barang, didn't want people to wonder what I was doing there. Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn't, but in some ways, I almost felt like I would be turning what was for thousands of people a sincerely grievous occasion into a sightseeing opportunity, and that just didn't feel right.
As it turns out, in my wanderings, I saw the top of the golden Phoenix float go by, which I later learned held the body. I saw the monks, and probably if I had stayed put, seen the actual coffin. But I just couldn't be a tourist about it. If I had lived here several years, maybe that would be different and maybe I would have been the only one to see myself as a tourist -- but I couldn't do it.
I don't understand why he was so beloved, but I know what I saw and the thousands of people who cared enough about his death to stand in the streets for hours just to welcome him home for the last time. So, to the King-Father Norodom Sihanouk, wherever you are now ---
I hope you sleep well.
By Monday night, my Facebook news feed was overflowing with pictures and comments. Profile pictures were being changed, pictures were being shared lightning fast.
The news is this: one of the most towering and most beloved figures in Cambodian history, the King-Father Norodom Sihanouk, died Monday in Beijing. He was 89. His biography is long and fascinating, but I won't go into it here. I will say that King Sihanouk was a controversial figure to say the least, known as a hero of independence and for making the very ill-fated decision to support the Pol Pot regime and the Khmer Rouge in its beginning stages. And yet, despite being somewhat responsible for the profound suffering of the Khmer people --
They love him. Adore, even. The news of his death was received with overwhelming grief and mourning. The pictures on my Facebook honored him, a shrine was immediately set up in front of the Royal Palace, and today when the King-Father's body came home for the final time, hundreds of thousands of people lined the streets to greet him.
I know that because I was trying to get home right about when the coffin arrived and found myself completely blocked in. I couldn't take Norodom because it was closed, I couldn't cross Sihanouk, and to get to Monivong on the other side would involve crossing Russian Blvd, and that was closed too. I biked up and down the city, trying to figure out what to do.
I could have just parked and stayed. I did want to see the coffin, and be a part of the event, but there was something holding me back. Maybe it was just in my mind -- things often are -- but the fact is, Norodom Sihanouk was not my King-Father. I didn't -- and still don't -- know that much about him. I didn't live his choices. I never saw him on TV, or met him, or heard anything about him. I see how much his death means to the people around me, but I can't, and don't know how to, relate.
That wasn't why I didn't just park and watch though. The real reason is that I didn't want to be another spectacle. I didn't want it to be about the one lost Barang, didn't want people to wonder what I was doing there. Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn't, but in some ways, I almost felt like I would be turning what was for thousands of people a sincerely grievous occasion into a sightseeing opportunity, and that just didn't feel right.
As it turns out, in my wanderings, I saw the top of the golden Phoenix float go by, which I later learned held the body. I saw the monks, and probably if I had stayed put, seen the actual coffin. But I just couldn't be a tourist about it. If I had lived here several years, maybe that would be different and maybe I would have been the only one to see myself as a tourist -- but I couldn't do it.
I don't understand why he was so beloved, but I know what I saw and the thousands of people who cared enough about his death to stand in the streets for hours just to welcome him home for the last time. So, to the King-Father Norodom Sihanouk, wherever you are now ---
I hope you sleep well.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Exhibit Barang, the River, 6 methods of moving, and Pchum Ben
I'm not quite sure how to begin this write up -- I could do a multi-part, day-by-day thing, but I'm not sure I want to be that ambitious or if it would be that interesting.
Let's start with the bare bones. Here's how the thing shook out, by modes of transportation:
-Tuktuk to Central Market
-Shared taxi - we bought the backseat, 3 people where 5 usually are, and as a consequence there were 5 in the front seat, including one in the driver's lap - to Kampong Chnnang
-Moto to the riverside market
-Ferry to Kampong Leang
-Walking around
-Ferry back to Kampong Chnnang
-Boat ride around the floating villages
-Moto to hotel
-Next morning, bus to Ponley
-Moto to Kampong Steang
-Motorized canoe ride around the area
-Moto back to Ponley
-Bus home to Phnom Penh.
As you might be able to tell, we spent a lot of time moving. You can't tell from this how much of that time moving we spent in packed public transportation, squeezed in between the motos and market goods and people, with loud motors and odd looks.
Let me put it this way: tourists don't go where we went. I was traveling with a good friend and her uncle, the Uncle fortunately being able to speak good Khmer and have a knack for discovering how to get places. We didn't make a single reservation in advance the entire time, and to get home were literally standing on the side of the road flagging down buses.
Tourists go to floating villages, sure, these strange bobbing clusters of humanity on the river, swollen heavily from the rains, where shops are on barges and everyone owns a boat. But they only go to certain floating villages, in certain places, and not, apparently, the ones we were at. I think we were the only Barangs I saw the entire two days, except for a group of people at the hotel restaurant.
The looks we got were curious, amused, excited, deeply concerned/confused, and uncertain, the primary one being amused confusion. Open stares were more the norm than sidelong looks, and in some cases the staring turned to gaping. You could hear the thoughts, what the hell are these Barangs doing here, of all places?
In both Kampong Leang and Kampong Chnnang, within some time of arriving, a friendly police officer arrived to say hello, see if we needed anything -- if we were lost, more like. It was really funny, I thought, that they sent the police to deal with us, I guess no one else really wanted to. On the boat ride at Kampong Steang, we stopped by an island Pagoda, filled with people celebrating Pchum Ben, and there it was a monk sent to deal with us -- and attempt to get money from us, but he did it in a very nice way and wasn't upset when we politely refused. We figured he got sent to deal with the Barangs because he had the best English.
Wherever we went, we were a spectacle. The street kids hanging out at the temples came in crowds to follow us and try to get in the pictures we took. The people in the pagoda greeted us very warmly, almost proud to have their very own Barangs. We were like celebrities, but like aliens too. Celebrities because alien, I guess. People -- and not just kids, people of all ages -- waved to us as we passed, shouted hello. We waved back because, why not?
The constant motion and the constant staring was exhausting, but this was contrasted with the peace of the river and the water. The rainy season has made water of the whole land, the trees in up to their branches and green plants floating where mud flats are during the dry season. Something about the water is so calming, even with everything.
During the sunset cruise, we motored by people just living -- fishing, sitting in hammocks, eating, praying, kids playing in the water. A few kids with boats were drag racing in front of the appreciate audience on the riverside at Kampoong Chnnang. We also saw two boats playing pirates with each other, throwing plants and anything else they could get their hands on at each other, and then later on a 'club boat' -- no lights, no music, but a bunch of kids dancing away to the beats in their heads.
Watching the little girls expertly row the boats, the kids playing in the water, the water culture, I thought, they don't know what it's like to live on dry ground. The water is everything to them.
It was a fascinating couple of days, and I can't deny I was glad to be back home. I thought I was a foreigner in Phnom Penh -- and I am, and always will be -- but it was nothing compared to the strange, fascinating, and interesting alien I was there. The scrutiny gets to you after awhile, and I'm still getting over the constant motion. But -- I am glad I went.
Here are some photos from the trip:
Let's start with the bare bones. Here's how the thing shook out, by modes of transportation:
-Tuktuk to Central Market
-Shared taxi - we bought the backseat, 3 people where 5 usually are, and as a consequence there were 5 in the front seat, including one in the driver's lap - to Kampong Chnnang
-Moto to the riverside market
-Ferry to Kampong Leang
-Walking around
-Ferry back to Kampong Chnnang
-Boat ride around the floating villages
-Moto to hotel
-Next morning, bus to Ponley
-Moto to Kampong Steang
-Motorized canoe ride around the area
-Moto back to Ponley
-Bus home to Phnom Penh.
As you might be able to tell, we spent a lot of time moving. You can't tell from this how much of that time moving we spent in packed public transportation, squeezed in between the motos and market goods and people, with loud motors and odd looks.
Let me put it this way: tourists don't go where we went. I was traveling with a good friend and her uncle, the Uncle fortunately being able to speak good Khmer and have a knack for discovering how to get places. We didn't make a single reservation in advance the entire time, and to get home were literally standing on the side of the road flagging down buses.
Tourists go to floating villages, sure, these strange bobbing clusters of humanity on the river, swollen heavily from the rains, where shops are on barges and everyone owns a boat. But they only go to certain floating villages, in certain places, and not, apparently, the ones we were at. I think we were the only Barangs I saw the entire two days, except for a group of people at the hotel restaurant.
The looks we got were curious, amused, excited, deeply concerned/confused, and uncertain, the primary one being amused confusion. Open stares were more the norm than sidelong looks, and in some cases the staring turned to gaping. You could hear the thoughts, what the hell are these Barangs doing here, of all places?
In both Kampong Leang and Kampong Chnnang, within some time of arriving, a friendly police officer arrived to say hello, see if we needed anything -- if we were lost, more like. It was really funny, I thought, that they sent the police to deal with us, I guess no one else really wanted to. On the boat ride at Kampong Steang, we stopped by an island Pagoda, filled with people celebrating Pchum Ben, and there it was a monk sent to deal with us -- and attempt to get money from us, but he did it in a very nice way and wasn't upset when we politely refused. We figured he got sent to deal with the Barangs because he had the best English.
Wherever we went, we were a spectacle. The street kids hanging out at the temples came in crowds to follow us and try to get in the pictures we took. The people in the pagoda greeted us very warmly, almost proud to have their very own Barangs. We were like celebrities, but like aliens too. Celebrities because alien, I guess. People -- and not just kids, people of all ages -- waved to us as we passed, shouted hello. We waved back because, why not?
The constant motion and the constant staring was exhausting, but this was contrasted with the peace of the river and the water. The rainy season has made water of the whole land, the trees in up to their branches and green plants floating where mud flats are during the dry season. Something about the water is so calming, even with everything.
During the sunset cruise, we motored by people just living -- fishing, sitting in hammocks, eating, praying, kids playing in the water. A few kids with boats were drag racing in front of the appreciate audience on the riverside at Kampoong Chnnang. We also saw two boats playing pirates with each other, throwing plants and anything else they could get their hands on at each other, and then later on a 'club boat' -- no lights, no music, but a bunch of kids dancing away to the beats in their heads.
Watching the little girls expertly row the boats, the kids playing in the water, the water culture, I thought, they don't know what it's like to live on dry ground. The water is everything to them.
It was a fascinating couple of days, and I can't deny I was glad to be back home. I thought I was a foreigner in Phnom Penh -- and I am, and always will be -- but it was nothing compared to the strange, fascinating, and interesting alien I was there. The scrutiny gets to you after awhile, and I'm still getting over the constant motion. But -- I am glad I went.
Here are some photos from the trip:
 |
| This is the kind of look we got. |
 |
| The ferry from Kampong Leang to Kampong Chnnang |
 |
| Sunset on the river, and some awesome little girl rowing. |
 |
| The boat ride to the hidden pagoda, along a hidden channel. |
 |
| With some onlookers. |
 |
| The monk went to deal with us, my travel partners, and the crowd. |
Friday, October 12, 2012
Taking a rest, what's on TV, and TGIF
Let me be the first to say : It hasn't been an easy week.
I can't say it's been a bad week because, well, those don't exist and there was a lot of progress and good things. But it hasn't been easy, as the overload of things to think about and create and push caught up with me and I caught a nasty cold/cough on Wednesday. That makes everything more difficult, plus the normal hiccups in producing projects.
Yesterday my partner cancelled our meeting for the fusion project as she too was getting sick, and I had the entire afternoon to myself. Despite being exhausted -- from the cold, and from an early morning wake up to attend a press conference for Cambodian Living Arts' new cultural season at the National Museum (Plae Pakaa, check it out) in a swiftly-becoming devilishly hot morning -- I found myself utterly incapable of resting.
Instead, I worked all day. Literally. There was plenty to do, e-mails to send (I still haven't caught up, I found some embarrassingly unanswered e-mails when cleaning out my inbox today), things to edit, Khmer to practice, etc. I only took a break to stare out the window for 20 minutes, and when I ran out of things to do around 9pm, I went to bed.
Some eleven hours later, I wasn't much more rested than the night previously and was feeling even more blah, stomach a bit upset, the whole nine yards. Despite this, I went to work and endured some endless meetings, and then at last decided to pull part-time privilege and go home.
At that point starting to get hungry, I stopped by the grocery store - a bit concerned about the likelihood of anything being open during the holidays this week -- and went home. Except this time, I didn't go to work. I made some tea (I'm out of tea now. The world is ending), had some chocolate, played some stupid games, and when I couldn't stay awake, I took a nap.
I was supposed to visit an apartment tonight, but instead I called the woman and rescheduled. For the hell of it, I turned on the TV, and stumbled on a channel playing Ratatouille, by good chance near the beginning. So I sat back to watch, had a bit of dinner, and when it was done, found a channel replaying the Titans and Steelers game from the other night.
In short, what I mean to say is that at last, I managed to spend a few hours without thinking, planning, or working, a brilliant gift at the end of a long week.
Sometimes that's just what you need. Tell my secretary to cancel all my appointments, I'm taking the night off. I don't want to deal with everything I'm trying to do and make and create and however exciting it all is, sometimes you need to drink a coke, watch a silly movie, or some football.
I was talking about this with a friend the other day -- because everything is just so new here, living is so exhausting because even if you do the same things every day, you're still learning, all the time, every second of every day. I think the best thing about watching a movie like Ratatouille is that it tells you what to think so you don't have to work too hard, just exist in another world as observer for awhile.
It will be a four-day weekend. As best as I can -- and I do try, I really do -- I will take the time to rest and get better. But for tonight -- as exciting, interesting, and wonderful as this adventure has been so far -- I am just so content to sit back and watch some football, because there, at least, I understand exactly what's going on.
I can't say it's been a bad week because, well, those don't exist and there was a lot of progress and good things. But it hasn't been easy, as the overload of things to think about and create and push caught up with me and I caught a nasty cold/cough on Wednesday. That makes everything more difficult, plus the normal hiccups in producing projects.
Yesterday my partner cancelled our meeting for the fusion project as she too was getting sick, and I had the entire afternoon to myself. Despite being exhausted -- from the cold, and from an early morning wake up to attend a press conference for Cambodian Living Arts' new cultural season at the National Museum (Plae Pakaa, check it out) in a swiftly-becoming devilishly hot morning -- I found myself utterly incapable of resting.
Instead, I worked all day. Literally. There was plenty to do, e-mails to send (I still haven't caught up, I found some embarrassingly unanswered e-mails when cleaning out my inbox today), things to edit, Khmer to practice, etc. I only took a break to stare out the window for 20 minutes, and when I ran out of things to do around 9pm, I went to bed.
Some eleven hours later, I wasn't much more rested than the night previously and was feeling even more blah, stomach a bit upset, the whole nine yards. Despite this, I went to work and endured some endless meetings, and then at last decided to pull part-time privilege and go home.
At that point starting to get hungry, I stopped by the grocery store - a bit concerned about the likelihood of anything being open during the holidays this week -- and went home. Except this time, I didn't go to work. I made some tea (I'm out of tea now. The world is ending), had some chocolate, played some stupid games, and when I couldn't stay awake, I took a nap.
I was supposed to visit an apartment tonight, but instead I called the woman and rescheduled. For the hell of it, I turned on the TV, and stumbled on a channel playing Ratatouille, by good chance near the beginning. So I sat back to watch, had a bit of dinner, and when it was done, found a channel replaying the Titans and Steelers game from the other night.
In short, what I mean to say is that at last, I managed to spend a few hours without thinking, planning, or working, a brilliant gift at the end of a long week.
Sometimes that's just what you need. Tell my secretary to cancel all my appointments, I'm taking the night off. I don't want to deal with everything I'm trying to do and make and create and however exciting it all is, sometimes you need to drink a coke, watch a silly movie, or some football.
I was talking about this with a friend the other day -- because everything is just so new here, living is so exhausting because even if you do the same things every day, you're still learning, all the time, every second of every day. I think the best thing about watching a movie like Ratatouille is that it tells you what to think so you don't have to work too hard, just exist in another world as observer for awhile.
It will be a four-day weekend. As best as I can -- and I do try, I really do -- I will take the time to rest and get better. But for tonight -- as exciting, interesting, and wonderful as this adventure has been so far -- I am just so content to sit back and watch some football, because there, at least, I understand exactly what's going on.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Tuesday Night Chatter
I think the most intelligible thing I can say tonight is that I'm tired.
I was supposed to be up at 8:15 for a skype call, but was instead awake at 7:30 -- I was dozing when a friend called to discuss travel plans, or in this case, the lack thereof for the long weekend. Since then I've been straight on one thing to the next. I spent an hour with my Khmer tutor and remember exactly nothing of what I actually learned.
Or didn't learn as I guess the case is.
I also had an espresso after 4pm yesterday, which is a no-no. It kicked in around 11pm, at which point I gave up trying to sleep and started talking to myself out loud, working out with my ceiling how to resolve various issues with various projects that cropped up yesterday.
The ceiling didn't have much to say, but it was a good listener.
I spent a good deal of the day -- this is an exaggeration, but it feels like it -- trying to worm a straight answer out of a stubborn French woman as to the specifics of a grant I am in charge of getting, and managed to achieve exactly nothing besides (probably) make her think that I am an idiot, when in fact I just think she is an idiot. Mutual idiot-thinking does not get anything done, naturally, so now I have no choice but to continue as if I know exactly what's going on and assume that her "jury of experts" will just have to deal if there is one detail off.
That is not a very good way of going about things. I just thought -- wow, is this a commentary on today's world of everyone knowing everything always -- that any future employers will use this against me in the recruiting process. "You wrote on your blog on October 9th yada yada which shows that you blame things on other people." Well -- hey, good thing I'm planning to employ myself, huh??
Ahem. That was embarrassing, however, I think I am going to eschew (I can't believe I just used that word, and probably incorrectly...) taking responsibility for anything I say tonight. Fortunately for you, you get to be on the receiving end of such synaptic vomit. Aren't you lucky.
Yeah, so I'm back to being poor, after a month of walking around with dollar signs in my eyes, as I willfully deluded myself into thinking I was being paid twice as much as I actually am - oops - which I've heard is the reason why lotteries ruin people's lives. So I have plenty enough to live off and that's all I need, I guess. Note to self ---- don't do the above anymore. It's silly.
Had yesterday what my dad would call a case of the "Things aren't following my script", thanks to hitting some resistance about the public performance project, notably the venue asking for rent when it was supposed to be free, and some various other annoyances I won't get into here. It made me very whiny indeed, and I suppose the argument could be made it still is. I think it will be better by the end of this week, as this week is just too much for its own good.
Don't mind me just staring at the wall for the rest of the night....
I was supposed to be up at 8:15 for a skype call, but was instead awake at 7:30 -- I was dozing when a friend called to discuss travel plans, or in this case, the lack thereof for the long weekend. Since then I've been straight on one thing to the next. I spent an hour with my Khmer tutor and remember exactly nothing of what I actually learned.
Or didn't learn as I guess the case is.
I also had an espresso after 4pm yesterday, which is a no-no. It kicked in around 11pm, at which point I gave up trying to sleep and started talking to myself out loud, working out with my ceiling how to resolve various issues with various projects that cropped up yesterday.
The ceiling didn't have much to say, but it was a good listener.
I spent a good deal of the day -- this is an exaggeration, but it feels like it -- trying to worm a straight answer out of a stubborn French woman as to the specifics of a grant I am in charge of getting, and managed to achieve exactly nothing besides (probably) make her think that I am an idiot, when in fact I just think she is an idiot. Mutual idiot-thinking does not get anything done, naturally, so now I have no choice but to continue as if I know exactly what's going on and assume that her "jury of experts" will just have to deal if there is one detail off.
That is not a very good way of going about things. I just thought -- wow, is this a commentary on today's world of everyone knowing everything always -- that any future employers will use this against me in the recruiting process. "You wrote on your blog on October 9th yada yada which shows that you blame things on other people." Well -- hey, good thing I'm planning to employ myself, huh??
Ahem. That was embarrassing, however, I think I am going to eschew (I can't believe I just used that word, and probably incorrectly...) taking responsibility for anything I say tonight. Fortunately for you, you get to be on the receiving end of such synaptic vomit. Aren't you lucky.
Yeah, so I'm back to being poor, after a month of walking around with dollar signs in my eyes, as I willfully deluded myself into thinking I was being paid twice as much as I actually am - oops - which I've heard is the reason why lotteries ruin people's lives. So I have plenty enough to live off and that's all I need, I guess. Note to self ---- don't do the above anymore. It's silly.
Had yesterday what my dad would call a case of the "Things aren't following my script", thanks to hitting some resistance about the public performance project, notably the venue asking for rent when it was supposed to be free, and some various other annoyances I won't get into here. It made me very whiny indeed, and I suppose the argument could be made it still is. I think it will be better by the end of this week, as this week is just too much for its own good.
Don't mind me just staring at the wall for the rest of the night....
Monday, October 8, 2012
Pchum Ben and Oudong Mountain (w/ photos)
When I arrived, the bus was already packed. I had expected the outing to be for the CLA team, but discovered it to be for the students more so, and so many showed up that some of them -- mostly the kids I knew -- were kicked off the bus as the driver refused to go with that many people.
Everyone was dressed up -- oops!! -- the guys in white or light blue shirts and nice slacks, the girls in skirts and lovely white blouses, most with lace. Thankfully I had thought to wear a white shirt, but felt decidedly dressed down. Well, I didn't know.
Oudong Mountain is technically about an hour from Phnom Penh, but it took much longer, as everyone and their grandmother -- and I don't think I'm exaggerating -- was on the road and it was raining as we're getting pasted by a passing tropical storm.
However, eventually we got there. The sign at the entrance said, For Foreigner only, Admission 1 USD. I hunched down in my seat, and the bus went on. No foreigners here. These aren't the droids you're looking for...
Pchum Ben is one of the most important holidays here. It is a 15 day religious festival, culminating in Ancestor's Day at the end. During this time, Cambodians believe that the spirit world is much closer and the evil spirits are out and about. Because they have unprecedented access to the netherworld, they take the opportunity to make offerings for their more suspect dead relatives, to move them from the evil world to the good side of things, and to placate the evil spirits.
Either way it is a class A big deal, and the pagoda was literally crawling with people when we arrived. The offerings are everywhere, and a flurry of nuns and monks, most in white, scurried around sorting and organizing them. Set up here and there were sets of 4 monks, in orange, or nuns, in white, or both, in front of which people gathered to give their offerings. Our group, a sizeable number, squeezed in at one of these stations and brought forth the offerings.
Mostly, they are food - I had bought a premade packet at the market with some instant noodles, water, incense, and candles wrapped up nicely, then added some bread from the supermarket and some fruit. Many people had silver stacked things with food inside, and then everyone pitched in a few thousand riel. Once we gathered everything, the leader of the group handed them directly to the monk and I realized that the idea was that he touched everything, as sometimes she would just pick up something, he touched it, and then she put it back.
Also, as she was doing so, the others in the group reached out to touch her, as though the touch power of the monk was channeled through her. I thought that was cool, and joined in the circle. Once all the offerings had been officially received, the monks chanted a blessing. With that finished, we went to pray in front of the huge Buddha statue at the end of the hall, light incense, etc.
Once this was completed, and after checking around the complex, we decided to go up the mountain, as it was no longer raining. There, we discovered more people and an impromptu town of restaurants, but unlike anything I'd ever seen. They were just shelters, open and airy, with big alcoves, the floor covered in the straw carpets, and hammocks hung around. We settled in the alcoves and brought out the food -- apparently the silver things were filled with food.
At first I was sitting a bit aside, having the lunch I had brought, but then someone must have decided I looked lonely, because the group offered me their food and made sure I had my own container of rice. One guy, who I think the leader had asked to 'adopt me', kept coming over to make sure I was eating and was sharing the meat and soup.
Lunch finished, the guy, his friend, and I embarked on a mission to hike up to the top of the mission. We took the hard way, as I found out later, but ended up on a winding trail, passing all sorts of cool pagodas and little shrines, occasionally stopping for a blessing or to pray. The scenery from up top -- not THAT high, but certainly higher than most things around here -- was very beautiful, and along the way we chatted in the best way we could, with my very basic Khmer and his very basic English (he asked how many years I had been studying...and was quite surprised when I said two weeks!!!)
At the top pagoda, I bought a handful of lotus flowers, incense, and candles to lit in the small shrine there, and then we discovered the easy way down (though missing all those great little pagodas). There was a large group of monkeys chilling there, snatching lotus flowers from the hands of the terrified groups heading up. The things are mean -- I saw at least two baring their teeth, and as I said the one fat one snatching flowers straight from people's hands.
Once reunited with the group, most of whom had been exploring as well, it was time to rest -- very tired from the hike, I made use of the hammocks to take a break -- and eat fruit. Most of the students I knew had been victims of the bus overload, but some were still there and offered me bits of the fruits they were eating, which was cool.
Eventually we headed back, taking about a half hour just to get out of the parking lot, and it was a long bus ride back. I was tired from the 6:45 wake up and the hike, the heat, and etc, but the whole thing was really fascinating. One of the strangest things -- and coolest -- was that among the hundreds, maybe thousands of people there, I was essentially the only white person. I saw two others, in the restaurants. I did get some strange looks, but they could see that I was there to offer like everyone else, that I was in a group, and so there was no sense of hostility, just curiosity.
I'm glad I went. See below for some pics!
Everyone was dressed up -- oops!! -- the guys in white or light blue shirts and nice slacks, the girls in skirts and lovely white blouses, most with lace. Thankfully I had thought to wear a white shirt, but felt decidedly dressed down. Well, I didn't know.
Oudong Mountain is technically about an hour from Phnom Penh, but it took much longer, as everyone and their grandmother -- and I don't think I'm exaggerating -- was on the road and it was raining as we're getting pasted by a passing tropical storm.
However, eventually we got there. The sign at the entrance said, For Foreigner only, Admission 1 USD. I hunched down in my seat, and the bus went on. No foreigners here. These aren't the droids you're looking for...
Pchum Ben is one of the most important holidays here. It is a 15 day religious festival, culminating in Ancestor's Day at the end. During this time, Cambodians believe that the spirit world is much closer and the evil spirits are out and about. Because they have unprecedented access to the netherworld, they take the opportunity to make offerings for their more suspect dead relatives, to move them from the evil world to the good side of things, and to placate the evil spirits.
Either way it is a class A big deal, and the pagoda was literally crawling with people when we arrived. The offerings are everywhere, and a flurry of nuns and monks, most in white, scurried around sorting and organizing them. Set up here and there were sets of 4 monks, in orange, or nuns, in white, or both, in front of which people gathered to give their offerings. Our group, a sizeable number, squeezed in at one of these stations and brought forth the offerings.
Mostly, they are food - I had bought a premade packet at the market with some instant noodles, water, incense, and candles wrapped up nicely, then added some bread from the supermarket and some fruit. Many people had silver stacked things with food inside, and then everyone pitched in a few thousand riel. Once we gathered everything, the leader of the group handed them directly to the monk and I realized that the idea was that he touched everything, as sometimes she would just pick up something, he touched it, and then she put it back.
Also, as she was doing so, the others in the group reached out to touch her, as though the touch power of the monk was channeled through her. I thought that was cool, and joined in the circle. Once all the offerings had been officially received, the monks chanted a blessing. With that finished, we went to pray in front of the huge Buddha statue at the end of the hall, light incense, etc.
Once this was completed, and after checking around the complex, we decided to go up the mountain, as it was no longer raining. There, we discovered more people and an impromptu town of restaurants, but unlike anything I'd ever seen. They were just shelters, open and airy, with big alcoves, the floor covered in the straw carpets, and hammocks hung around. We settled in the alcoves and brought out the food -- apparently the silver things were filled with food.
At first I was sitting a bit aside, having the lunch I had brought, but then someone must have decided I looked lonely, because the group offered me their food and made sure I had my own container of rice. One guy, who I think the leader had asked to 'adopt me', kept coming over to make sure I was eating and was sharing the meat and soup.
Lunch finished, the guy, his friend, and I embarked on a mission to hike up to the top of the mission. We took the hard way, as I found out later, but ended up on a winding trail, passing all sorts of cool pagodas and little shrines, occasionally stopping for a blessing or to pray. The scenery from up top -- not THAT high, but certainly higher than most things around here -- was very beautiful, and along the way we chatted in the best way we could, with my very basic Khmer and his very basic English (he asked how many years I had been studying...and was quite surprised when I said two weeks!!!)
At the top pagoda, I bought a handful of lotus flowers, incense, and candles to lit in the small shrine there, and then we discovered the easy way down (though missing all those great little pagodas). There was a large group of monkeys chilling there, snatching lotus flowers from the hands of the terrified groups heading up. The things are mean -- I saw at least two baring their teeth, and as I said the one fat one snatching flowers straight from people's hands.
Once reunited with the group, most of whom had been exploring as well, it was time to rest -- very tired from the hike, I made use of the hammocks to take a break -- and eat fruit. Most of the students I knew had been victims of the bus overload, but some were still there and offered me bits of the fruits they were eating, which was cool.
Eventually we headed back, taking about a half hour just to get out of the parking lot, and it was a long bus ride back. I was tired from the 6:45 wake up and the hike, the heat, and etc, but the whole thing was really fascinating. One of the strangest things -- and coolest -- was that among the hundreds, maybe thousands of people there, I was essentially the only white person. I saw two others, in the restaurants. I did get some strange looks, but they could see that I was there to offer like everyone else, that I was in a group, and so there was no sense of hostility, just curiosity.
I'm glad I went. See below for some pics!
 |
| Inside the pagoda. |
 |
| The "mountain." |
 |
| The view from the mountain. |
 |
| The fat monkey, and the frightened child. |
 |
| The restaurant. |
Saturday, October 6, 2012
A quick thought
It snowed in Colorado today. Last night, for them. The highs are in the 50s, tomorrow under 40.
This is not particularly abnormal for Denver -- my mom says first freeze is average around October 8th.
But it is completely unfathomable for me.
It will be in the 70s again in a week, I'm sure, I said in a skype chat.
Of course, mom replied, don't you remember Colorado?
I thought for a second -- and realized, no, I don't. I have no idea. I've been back here and there for visits, during the summer, during the winter. The last time I lived there was over four years ago, and of course I've been in close contact, but right now especially --
No, I don't remember. That world is not even another planet, it's another universe, and maybe not even parallel. Here, it is the rainy season. October means rain, and that is all. Autumn is not a word that means anything here. I remember in theory, when I think about it, the Colorado winters, that I needed to wear a jacket --
But I don't remember what the cold feels like.
It is the same earth, I think, but the place where it is snowing, called Colorado, is as far away from me as the nearest star. It was a strange realization -- not really attached with an emotion, just like turning around and looking at something and saying, Huh. Now, isn't that interesting.
This is not particularly abnormal for Denver -- my mom says first freeze is average around October 8th.
But it is completely unfathomable for me.
It will be in the 70s again in a week, I'm sure, I said in a skype chat.
Of course, mom replied, don't you remember Colorado?
I thought for a second -- and realized, no, I don't. I have no idea. I've been back here and there for visits, during the summer, during the winter. The last time I lived there was over four years ago, and of course I've been in close contact, but right now especially --
No, I don't remember. That world is not even another planet, it's another universe, and maybe not even parallel. Here, it is the rainy season. October means rain, and that is all. Autumn is not a word that means anything here. I remember in theory, when I think about it, the Colorado winters, that I needed to wear a jacket --
But I don't remember what the cold feels like.
It is the same earth, I think, but the place where it is snowing, called Colorado, is as far away from me as the nearest star. It was a strange realization -- not really attached with an emotion, just like turning around and looking at something and saying, Huh. Now, isn't that interesting.
Friday, October 5, 2012
The Circus, SE Asian style
The day I came back from Siem Reap, there were two circuses in town.
That in itself is remarkable, as it's not exactly a common thing here, and yet to have two on the same night, roughly around the same time, was quite something.
My friend invited me to go, and I bought a ticket, at that point not knowing about the double situation, and just bought it for the circus I thought it was, the Phare Ponleu Selepak troupe from Battambang, which I'd heard a lot about.
However, once in the tuktuk with my friend, who was directing and heading to somewhere that was definitely NOT where I thought the performance was -- and yet, what do you know, a circus tent! I assumed I had gotten the directions wrong, until she pulled out her own ticket and we realized that in fact they were not the same. There were not one, but TWO circuses performing, and I was currently in possession of the wrong ticket for this venue.
Despite this mixup they let me in anyway, as I assume this was a common issue what with both tickets being on sale at the same places and nowhere that said choose wisely my friend.
Turns out, it was a circus compiled of artists from Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos. The Ringmaster spoke in Vietnamese, with a translator to Khmer. The cast was enormous. It was an acrobatic circus, cirque du soleil style only without the crazy factor and the ridiculously intricate costumes and makeup.
Don't get me wrong, they were good -- but it was really interesting, watching it made me realize how much time I've spent around circus -- learning it, watching it, etc. I realized I had spent the majority of my teen years doing this, and therefore, I recognized pretty much every act and their tricks -- the tricks for the aerial acts, the structure of the show and the acts, even the juggling passing patterns. I never did passing in juggling, but I've seen it practiced enough to recognize.
However, what was much more interesting for me than the tricks themselves -- besides the general awe at how much human beings can do -- was how they were presented, with a definite Southeast Asian flair. I caught a lot of classical dance movements, for one. The contortion act was all based on Hindu myths and had a lot of the dance in it, finishing with the girl shooting an arrow through a balloon with her feet, while balancing on her elbows. I think that was the most impressive thing I saw...
The spring board act, from Vietnam, had what I think was Vietnamese folk dancing, and the music. The fabric duo had the Cambodian hand gestures. Though I'm not sure what it has to do with SE Asia, the Vietnamese troupe doing the human feet juggling (you know, the burly guys on their backs juggling people on their feet), had specially modified motocycles for the occasion.
It was fascinating just to see how the same tricks, the same acts, the same audience reactions were just a little transplanted, made into something a little more local. Besides that, whatever they may be doing, I just love watching performers perform.
And, I'm not sure I have ever seen anyone set a jump rope on fire and do it on a unicycle, on the top of the platform, as the young performer from Cambodia did in the uni act...
That in itself is remarkable, as it's not exactly a common thing here, and yet to have two on the same night, roughly around the same time, was quite something.
My friend invited me to go, and I bought a ticket, at that point not knowing about the double situation, and just bought it for the circus I thought it was, the Phare Ponleu Selepak troupe from Battambang, which I'd heard a lot about.
However, once in the tuktuk with my friend, who was directing and heading to somewhere that was definitely NOT where I thought the performance was -- and yet, what do you know, a circus tent! I assumed I had gotten the directions wrong, until she pulled out her own ticket and we realized that in fact they were not the same. There were not one, but TWO circuses performing, and I was currently in possession of the wrong ticket for this venue.
Despite this mixup they let me in anyway, as I assume this was a common issue what with both tickets being on sale at the same places and nowhere that said choose wisely my friend.
Turns out, it was a circus compiled of artists from Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos. The Ringmaster spoke in Vietnamese, with a translator to Khmer. The cast was enormous. It was an acrobatic circus, cirque du soleil style only without the crazy factor and the ridiculously intricate costumes and makeup.
Don't get me wrong, they were good -- but it was really interesting, watching it made me realize how much time I've spent around circus -- learning it, watching it, etc. I realized I had spent the majority of my teen years doing this, and therefore, I recognized pretty much every act and their tricks -- the tricks for the aerial acts, the structure of the show and the acts, even the juggling passing patterns. I never did passing in juggling, but I've seen it practiced enough to recognize.
However, what was much more interesting for me than the tricks themselves -- besides the general awe at how much human beings can do -- was how they were presented, with a definite Southeast Asian flair. I caught a lot of classical dance movements, for one. The contortion act was all based on Hindu myths and had a lot of the dance in it, finishing with the girl shooting an arrow through a balloon with her feet, while balancing on her elbows. I think that was the most impressive thing I saw...
The spring board act, from Vietnam, had what I think was Vietnamese folk dancing, and the music. The fabric duo had the Cambodian hand gestures. Though I'm not sure what it has to do with SE Asia, the Vietnamese troupe doing the human feet juggling (you know, the burly guys on their backs juggling people on their feet), had specially modified motocycles for the occasion.
It was fascinating just to see how the same tricks, the same acts, the same audience reactions were just a little transplanted, made into something a little more local. Besides that, whatever they may be doing, I just love watching performers perform.
And, I'm not sure I have ever seen anyone set a jump rope on fire and do it on a unicycle, on the top of the platform, as the young performer from Cambodia did in the uni act...
Gillian vs. Words
I think there's a lot I could tell you.
Shoot, I know there is. Every day is filled with thousands of words and a million more in explanation and reflection. You know there's a lot going on, I know there's a lot going on.
But I don't know how to write about it.
Well, of course I could, I know what words I might use.
Ahhhh. Just trying to explain this and I'm stumbling. I want to tell you a lot. I am trying to figure out how. I am trying to figure out how much.
Let's talk about words for a second. I am learning Khmer -- I don't know if I ever actually talked about the language on this blog. I think I have thought about doing so multiple times and never have, but if I have and I'm repeating myself -- well, who cares, it's my blog and I'll keep it that way.
Before you even get to the words, there are 33 consonants in the alphabet. 33, but that's not really all, because some of them have "hidden" pairs, and most of them have a subscript form. Half of these are "soft" and half are "hard." Then, there are 22 vowels -- technically. Though, each has two sounds, one for the soft consonants and one for the hard. So technically there are 44, plus one "hidden" one, and an indeterminate amount of independent vowels (which I haven't learned, already being somewhat frightened off by the amount of plain ones.)
I wanted to learn the alphabet for the sounds, which is incredibly useful as otherwise everything sounds the same. I can occasionally sound out the Khmer script, if I remember the characters (rarely), though I never have any idea what it means.
The first week, I spent a great deal of time staring blankly at my tutor, who, bless his heart, talks to me very often in Khmer. However, after two weeks off and time to practice, I was able to understand much, much more during lessons this week. I am not conversational by any means, but if he talks slowly and uses words I know -- not a ton, but a fair amount -- then I can make it out.
I can answer, sometimes, very very slowly. When trying to talk to my partner for the fusion dance project, most of the time I get blank looks, but occasionally I manage to sort things out into a decent phrase.
On Tuesday, we learned about comparisons - highly useful, but I admit that by the end of class, just an hour, my brain felt ready to explode. In fact it often feels like that after class, because everything is so new. And there is so much to learn. I am always scribbling words and phrases in the quickly diminishing free spaces of my notebook. Yes, I want to know how to say that, how to say that. I'm missing so many words, that all my phrases have holes in them, filled in by my default, French.
I don't remember just learning French, so this is the first time I am caught at the very beginnings of language. I would like to think I am progressing well, but of course I don't think, not even in five months, I will be even basically conversational. I would like to be, and try to practice outside of class, but it's difficult.
The days are packed. My assistant job has picked up speed, I meet my partner for the fusion dance project twice a week, soon enough I'm going to have to schedule in some time to rehearse with the kids for the public performance, I'm choreographing a piece for a dance and film project, and then I have a part time job on top of that. Everything is so interesting and so fun, and I have some cool trips coming up -- the Pchum Ben vacations are coming up and I'm heading to Battambang to see the circus, for one.
More on Pchum Ben -- ancestor's day -- to come, as I'm going to Oudong mountain on Sunday with CLA to bring offerings to the monks in honor of the celebration...
Shoot, I know there is. Every day is filled with thousands of words and a million more in explanation and reflection. You know there's a lot going on, I know there's a lot going on.
But I don't know how to write about it.
Well, of course I could, I know what words I might use.
Ahhhh. Just trying to explain this and I'm stumbling. I want to tell you a lot. I am trying to figure out how. I am trying to figure out how much.
Let's talk about words for a second. I am learning Khmer -- I don't know if I ever actually talked about the language on this blog. I think I have thought about doing so multiple times and never have, but if I have and I'm repeating myself -- well, who cares, it's my blog and I'll keep it that way.
Before you even get to the words, there are 33 consonants in the alphabet. 33, but that's not really all, because some of them have "hidden" pairs, and most of them have a subscript form. Half of these are "soft" and half are "hard." Then, there are 22 vowels -- technically. Though, each has two sounds, one for the soft consonants and one for the hard. So technically there are 44, plus one "hidden" one, and an indeterminate amount of independent vowels (which I haven't learned, already being somewhat frightened off by the amount of plain ones.)
I wanted to learn the alphabet for the sounds, which is incredibly useful as otherwise everything sounds the same. I can occasionally sound out the Khmer script, if I remember the characters (rarely), though I never have any idea what it means.
The first week, I spent a great deal of time staring blankly at my tutor, who, bless his heart, talks to me very often in Khmer. However, after two weeks off and time to practice, I was able to understand much, much more during lessons this week. I am not conversational by any means, but if he talks slowly and uses words I know -- not a ton, but a fair amount -- then I can make it out.
I can answer, sometimes, very very slowly. When trying to talk to my partner for the fusion dance project, most of the time I get blank looks, but occasionally I manage to sort things out into a decent phrase.
On Tuesday, we learned about comparisons - highly useful, but I admit that by the end of class, just an hour, my brain felt ready to explode. In fact it often feels like that after class, because everything is so new. And there is so much to learn. I am always scribbling words and phrases in the quickly diminishing free spaces of my notebook. Yes, I want to know how to say that, how to say that. I'm missing so many words, that all my phrases have holes in them, filled in by my default, French.
I don't remember just learning French, so this is the first time I am caught at the very beginnings of language. I would like to think I am progressing well, but of course I don't think, not even in five months, I will be even basically conversational. I would like to be, and try to practice outside of class, but it's difficult.
The days are packed. My assistant job has picked up speed, I meet my partner for the fusion dance project twice a week, soon enough I'm going to have to schedule in some time to rehearse with the kids for the public performance, I'm choreographing a piece for a dance and film project, and then I have a part time job on top of that. Everything is so interesting and so fun, and I have some cool trips coming up -- the Pchum Ben vacations are coming up and I'm heading to Battambang to see the circus, for one.
More on Pchum Ben -- ancestor's day -- to come, as I'm going to Oudong mountain on Sunday with CLA to bring offerings to the monks in honor of the celebration...
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Tuesday Night Chatter
I hope you'll excuse the lack of TNC last week, I was just a bit busy.
To be honest, I don't really know what I'm going to say here. There is a lot to say -- there's always a lot to say -- but trying to put words to it is always an issue. I know, I do fine, and can usually smash thoughts together into a more or less cohesive post, but --
I don't know tonight.
The return to Phnom Penh has been busy, mostly. I spent a lot of time saying "we'll see when I get back from Siem Reap," and, well, now I'm back from Siem Reap and those projects are now waiting for me to attend to them.
Thank god for google, which has been invaluable in identifying all the crazy fruit my friend the fruitseller gets me to buy, this week persimmons, which apparently need to be eaten very, very ripe. Hence why the one I just tried to eat -- still very hard -- was no good. Oh well. She was also selling those wonderful sesame candies, some kind of sweet paste rolled in sesames. No idea what it's called, but I somehow ended up with a kilo of the stuff, or a half kilo, not really sure, and either way I'm happy.
My concentration is totally shot tonight -- I couldn't sleep last night and started out with a bang and didn't stop since; a meeting or two, work, my Khmer lesson, and then a rush job for my boss the ED. I can probably do without, but I am starting to seriously consider getting a smartphone for work, as I spend a lot of time in transition and unable to access my email, so when my boss calls me as he does and asks me if I can check my mail right now there's something urgent, it stresses me the heck out.
We'll see -- I'm making a bit less than I thought I was, thanks to my brain helpfully deleting the "but that's for full time" out of a crucial sentence, when I am in fact working part-time. However, thanks to my having about three different jobs, it shouldn't wind up being that big of an issue. We will see when I get paid from this new job, as I've heard different numbers from different people and am somewhat curious as to the final one.
I confess to being totally torn about being back -- half of me wants to go straight back to Siem Reap and find Linda, and the other half is really glad to be back in my own place, eating simple food, doing work I like. But I miss Linda dearly, and check my phone all the time just in case she decides to call, which I'm still holding out hope for.
My wrist is getting better but there is one place at the base of my thumb -- which I know because I poked it the other day in investigating -- that is still very sore and gets achy when I use my hand too much. I wonder if there might be a very small hairline fracture in there, but either way it will heal itself like any other injury.
I also miss my students -- as frustrating as they were, we ended on a fantastic note with the showing.
But, onwards we go. I'm working with someone on an investigation of dance and film -- working together to make art, not one for the other -- and found my inspiration for the dance I'm creating. I think you can guess -- a little 10 year old flower girl, who totally turned my world over. I know what I want to name it, and we've started talking about showing it when it's done. That way I get to talk about it...and maybe someone will know where to find her.
On a final, somewhat lighter note, it's really quite amazing the difference it makes having a bike that's not falling apart and way too small. I can get places quite quickly, I feel a hell of a lot safer, and the bike chain doesn't skip every time I try to add extra power. What a thought...
To be honest, I don't really know what I'm going to say here. There is a lot to say -- there's always a lot to say -- but trying to put words to it is always an issue. I know, I do fine, and can usually smash thoughts together into a more or less cohesive post, but --
I don't know tonight.
The return to Phnom Penh has been busy, mostly. I spent a lot of time saying "we'll see when I get back from Siem Reap," and, well, now I'm back from Siem Reap and those projects are now waiting for me to attend to them.
Thank god for google, which has been invaluable in identifying all the crazy fruit my friend the fruitseller gets me to buy, this week persimmons, which apparently need to be eaten very, very ripe. Hence why the one I just tried to eat -- still very hard -- was no good. Oh well. She was also selling those wonderful sesame candies, some kind of sweet paste rolled in sesames. No idea what it's called, but I somehow ended up with a kilo of the stuff, or a half kilo, not really sure, and either way I'm happy.
My concentration is totally shot tonight -- I couldn't sleep last night and started out with a bang and didn't stop since; a meeting or two, work, my Khmer lesson, and then a rush job for my boss the ED. I can probably do without, but I am starting to seriously consider getting a smartphone for work, as I spend a lot of time in transition and unable to access my email, so when my boss calls me as he does and asks me if I can check my mail right now there's something urgent, it stresses me the heck out.
We'll see -- I'm making a bit less than I thought I was, thanks to my brain helpfully deleting the "but that's for full time" out of a crucial sentence, when I am in fact working part-time. However, thanks to my having about three different jobs, it shouldn't wind up being that big of an issue. We will see when I get paid from this new job, as I've heard different numbers from different people and am somewhat curious as to the final one.
I confess to being totally torn about being back -- half of me wants to go straight back to Siem Reap and find Linda, and the other half is really glad to be back in my own place, eating simple food, doing work I like. But I miss Linda dearly, and check my phone all the time just in case she decides to call, which I'm still holding out hope for.
My wrist is getting better but there is one place at the base of my thumb -- which I know because I poked it the other day in investigating -- that is still very sore and gets achy when I use my hand too much. I wonder if there might be a very small hairline fracture in there, but either way it will heal itself like any other injury.
I also miss my students -- as frustrating as they were, we ended on a fantastic note with the showing.
But, onwards we go. I'm working with someone on an investigation of dance and film -- working together to make art, not one for the other -- and found my inspiration for the dance I'm creating. I think you can guess -- a little 10 year old flower girl, who totally turned my world over. I know what I want to name it, and we've started talking about showing it when it's done. That way I get to talk about it...and maybe someone will know where to find her.
On a final, somewhat lighter note, it's really quite amazing the difference it makes having a bike that's not falling apart and way too small. I can get places quite quickly, I feel a hell of a lot safer, and the bike chain doesn't skip every time I try to add extra power. What a thought...
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