Running Away from the Elections, and the Backpackers: A trip to the coast

As some of you may or may not know, there were just elections in Cambodia. It's the first time since the Khmer Rouge that the opposition party, the Cambodia National Rescue Party, has had significant support, and the campaigning season has been crazy, with huge rallies for both sides anywhere you look. While it is common knowledge that the ruling party had the election rigged, suddenly it became much more of an issue. In the weeks leading up to the vote, the embattled leader of the CNRP, Sam Rainsy, who had been in self-exile (that or face a long prison term in Cambodia for phantom charges), was granted a royal pardon by Hun Sen himself, and returned to the country.

The vote is over now and both sides have claimed victory, with reports of serious voter and poll fraud and both sides pointing fingers, and calls for investigations and recounts and all sorts of crazy things.

That's a story for another post, however, and what I mean to say is, this past weekend when the vote happened was the perfect excuse to get out of the city. My flatmate has been itching for a vacation for awhile anyway, and I thought that sounded like a brilliant idea, so on Friday we hopped in a taxi and headed south.

The road to Sihanoukville is very well taken care of -- and it needs to be. The main cargo shipping port is there and if the trucks carrying the shipping containers can't get there, the whole economy stalls. So instead of the very suspect and pot-hole filled road to Siem Reap, the road to Sihanoukville is smooth and paved.

The town itself is sprawled on the hilly coast, somewhat badly organized and winding. The second stoplight arrived recently, and the roads are mostly paved these days. It's developing quickly, but slightly too fast for itself and kind of haphazardly. Still, my first impression was that it was charming, with the hills and the one main street.

After getting everything organized for the rest of the weekend, we headed down to Serendipity Beach, down a short slope and then sprawling to both sides in boardwalks and restaurants. To the left, the sand beaches and restaurants, paroled by a few dozen women and children selling manicures, bracelets, and a waxing service that somehow ingeniously uses dental floss and baby powder to remove hair. To the right, the bungalows, a boardwalk of small beach-side bars and a number of huts built into the sleeply sloping hillside, which is where we stayed the first night.

Where we stayed the first night

Very happy to be away from the madness!

It was lovely -- except, of course, the booming bass music from across the beach, where the backpackers apparently partied until past 5am, right about the time the rain started and more or less drowned out the end of the party. By that time it was about time to get up anyway, and we were on a shuttle bus by seven, heading to the shipping port where a ferry would take us out to the island. It was a quiet enough ride until all the seats filled up and we stopped one more time to pick up a large group of still-drunk British backpackers, whose first words upon getting on the bus were, "Sorry guys, we're drunk as shit."

They were covered in paint (paint!) from the previous night's party and filling the bus with loud, inane chatter, including announcing very loudly that the people sitting down didn't appear to be enjoying their banter (really, ya think?). Needless to say, when we all saw that they were occupying the top level of the boat, we immediately went to the bottom level.

The boat ride to Koh Rong, our final destination, is supposedly two hours but actually closer to two and a half or three -- so long. When we arrived, a chipper expat hopped on the boat to inform us that there would be a briefing about the island's "activities" at the nearby guesthouse, but sensing a backpacker trap, my flatmate and I jumped off the boat as soon as possible and went peeling away from the backpacker area of the island, filled with dorm rooms and "As long as you're still drinking, we're still open" signs.

I have yet to really understand the bungalow phenomenon, let alone the concept of an "upscale" bungalow, but the place we went was supposedly upscale -- I guess that means you pay for privacy, your own hut, and no backpackers. The bungalow was tucked up into the gently sloping hills, a short walk from the large hut that doubled as common chill out area and restaurant, and the beach.

After some food and getting checked in, we headed straight for the beach for some sunbathing, though I forgot to check that my sunblock wasn't actually water-resistant, and after two and a half hours, I woke up from a nap to discover that I was seriously burned -- actually, as the day went on, it got worse and worse, developing into a very painful red. Whoops.

Sometimes I sits and thinks, and sometimes I just sits. 

The third day, second on the island, passed in peace. Mostly, I sat on a rock in the shade and read, or stared at the water. Later on, when it was dark and nobody was on the beach, I took the recommendation of a friend and went for a late-night, unclothed swim, which wasn't nearly as terrifying as I might have thought, deep water and darkness not being my favorite things in the world. I discovered that the sea there has the special phosphorescent algae that lights up the water when you move your body.

Then it was Monday and time to go back to an uneasily quiet city, but in between Koh Rong and Phnom Penh was a long and rainy boat ride and a longer drive. I was not looking forward at all to the boat ride, as it was a rainy and windy morning. However, I took my towel up to the less-populated upper deck and found the ride to actually be very strangely enjoyable. I realized that the rocking felt much like riding an elephant in Siem Reap, which was quite comforting, and the wind in my face was refreshing, watching the rain move in and out, obscuring the shore and the islands from view. It did get kind of cold when the rain started, but a good samaritan lent me an extra towel to hide under.

The weekend was not really a stop so much as a pause, but it was very welcome. Sleep comes early as there isn't much to do after dark, unless you want to head down to the backpacker area and drink yourself to oblivion (clearly that was high on my priority list). Time moves impossibly slowly when you have nothing to do, and by the end I was glad to return and get back into the swing of things -- though I admit that trying to think again on Tuesday morning after four days of staring at the water and not thinking was a bit of a struggle.

And next time, I'm going to be a bit more careful on that stupid sunblock...

Sorting out the curly q's and a weekend off

The reasons behind this post are entirely selfish. Being unable to sort out the curling mass of thoughts, I thought maybe if I pull them out and lay them flat they'll make more sense, that if I can see them in language I'll know what I want to keep and what I want to toss, or maybe just simply they'll be here and not there and unclutter the premises. 

People keep asking if I'm doing okay. I guess I have the glazed look, the kind of "lights-on-but-nobody-home". It crept up on me -- I knew I needed more of a vacation than the four days over Christmas (which could be years ago now) but for three weeks I was possessed with energy and drive. 

There was the showcase, which has only been mentioned here in passing and probably deserves more of a look than it's getting, but all you need to know for the moment is that it happened and the fact that it happened took a lot out of me. But it's really all about CTN, and me, the young white female in the midst of a very Cambodian company and paddling like mad just to stay afloat. 

"Soft launch" or not, I knew the expectations would be high (or low, as it turned out) and the need to make a good first impression to a bunch of very skeptical concert coordinators was very great. If we didn't do well, I'd lost whatever trust or promise I may have come with. And by launching into the midst of this already skeptical situation, I then was lacking some very basic things in order to make things look good. 

Getting those things, like costumes, decent rehearsal space, music files a couple days in advance, and food and water for the dancers, cost me at least ten dollars in phone credit (usually good for a month or two), dozens of hours (I don't think I'm exaggerating) and god-knows-how-much sheer willpower and energy. I did get these things, everything clicking into place this past weekend, and the subsequent crash has been -- 

Well, to be honest, kind of dramatic. My energy has been all over the place, up and down and around. I have moments of being really happy and mischeivous, and moments of being really down and upset. I'm alternately starving all the time or not really hungry at all. 

I'm okay, yes. The truth is, I'm exhausted, but I suspect it all to just be the aftermath of a serious emotional rollarcoaster that lasted almost three weeks or longer. There are a couple of various personal things that have added to everything as well. 

However, there is light at the end of the tunnel. This weekend, due to the cremation ceremony of the late King-Father, the whole city is essentially shutting down for four days and the entire country is descending on Phnom Penh. Road blockages have already begun in preparation for the procession tomorrow and I can only imagine what Monday during the cremation itself is going to be like. 

Although it is a historic occasion and it's kind of cool that it's happening while I'm here, my general aversion to large crowds (that could stampede at any moment) and terrible traffic, as well as a serious need to chill, has fueled my decision to stock up on food (ie junk food) and not leave the apartment for four days. I guess I think that maybe if there's only one place to throw energy, eventually it will bounce itself out and stop doing so in my head. 

I'll watch the procession and the ceremony on TV, accept house calls if they happen, and generally take four days to hermit. To watch all of the possible futures currently rattling around my head, speculations on potential situations based on presumed readings of various happenings and generally having nothing to do with the here and now, watch them all and then lay them to rest. Tell them, "I see you. I know where you come from," and then let them go, to be or not to, depending on which cosmic Hamlet wins the argument. 

And hopefully, when I come back to the surface on Tuesday morning, I'll be at peace, rested, and prepared to go forward without trying to think my way into it. 

Merry Christmas from the Pixie Dust Chronicle!

I'm a day late, I know. Although I did have my computer with me the past four days spent in Kampot in a beautiful guesthouse right on the river, I used it to skype my family and check Facebook. I quite ambitiously brought a book, my notebook and journal, and some markers with me, thinking reflection would come in the form of words, but as it turns out there was no reflection and more of just staring at the world going by.

I'll publish a 2012 year in review in a bit here, but I will say that it has been one year of complete insanity, and I haven't stopped moving since Christmas last year. This vacation -- somewhat ill-timed as there still remains a shit ton to do and projects in full swing and projects just getting started -- was so, so necessary. I needed the four days of not thinking, which was startlingly successful consider my usual issues with remaining thought-free.

It was a great vacation. We rented motos and puttered into town about once a day, exploring the villages and the salt flats in the area or just poking about Kampot, which is a very sleepy, small town, where the most activity happens on the trampolines randomly set up in the middle of town and everything is 'close to the durian," a large and random sculpture of a durian in the middle of a roundabout.

The rest of the time was spent at the hotel, eating or sitting by the pool, or talking, or swimming in the river. We swam across the river one day, which was lovely. And eating. There was Christmas to be had, and a huge barbecue that included an entire pig, a tree to be trimmed, Christmas cookies being baked by a couple other guests (who were actually some friends of mine -- small world here!!), skype calls to make, greetings to be had.

The motos, by the way, were fully automatic, which means you sort of perch on top of them. Both hands have brakes and the right hand has the accelerator, which I found confusing. They are also much heavier than you think, and especially compared to a bike they are much less agile, however much they look like toys in the hands of the teenage drivers. Figuring out the balance was a challenge, especially on the very bumpy dirt roads from town to the hotel.

So naturally I had to bail a couple times as I was learning how the thing worked, one time when I was trying to turn for the first time (oops), once when I was trying to pass a bike on the tiny backroads in the little surrounding villages and discovered I was heading directly for a very unflexible looking piece of palm tree, and stopped too quickly, and once when I apparently revved at precisely the wrong moment on a piece of mud and dropped the moto on my foot -- and sliced it open from sole to heel on the inside of my ankle.

So there was a trip to the hospital in there and a lot of blood, but six stitches and some bandages later I was patched up nicely and busy thinking how I might get in the pool while leaving one foot out of the water. It is still quite sore and quite annoying, and I still get the willies looking at it (fortunately I don't have to, it's covered most of the time). I suppose I could take it as a sign to never get on a moto again, but I don't think I will. I've never done it before, I don't know how to deal with mud and dirt, and I'll probably learn.

Also, better to get the crashes out of the way first, right?

Foot cut open or not, it was a lovely, lovely Christmas and vacation. Kampot is much, much windier than Phnom Penh and therefore much cooler (I wished I had brought a cover up for the evenings!). Amazing how different weather can be just a two hour drive away. There were even hills there, adding some texture to the incredibly flat landscape around here. The dirt was this lovely burnt orange, there was real grass and actual birds, and getting back into Phnom Penh today was a shock of people and traffic.

The only thing wrong was not having my family around and I missed them terribly, especially with my sister having some serious health issues and the family kind of tense, worried, and waiting. Still, through the miracle of skype we were able to spend my Christmas morning and their Christmas eve together. It wasn't perfect, but it was still beautiful.

It was my first Christmas in the blazing sunshine, certainly.

I've sent most of my Christmas greetings already from email and Facebook, but just wanted to post it here. Here I am, in Cambodia, celebrating Christmas in 90 degree weather.

Craziness.