Paying it forward, mosquitos, and hourglasses: Tuesday Night Chatter

They say giving is better that receiving. As a culture, we are taught to give because that's good, and unselfish, and the more you give -- and the less you expect -- the better of a person you are. There's also the pervasive idea that whatever you receive, you must pay back. In fact, simply receiving that which is freely given is downright uncomfortable.

And yet it's something I've been learning for years now. Whether it's free lodging during a transition time, rides when you're stuck without transportation, vacations when they are really necessary, or simply a good meal here or there, the people responsible do not expect repayment, and nor do they particularly want it. If something must be done at all, one person just told me to pay it forward.

I am not rich. By Cambodian standards, I'm well-off, by American standards, I'm dirt poor. For me, I have everything I need, and if I'm careful, some things I want. But these things are cycles: I have enough, for example, to offer to pay for my students' transportation if it means they can participate in a show that I think will be really good experience for them. At some point in my life, I'll probably have enough to pay for someone's meal, might have a car or a motobike I can use to take someone somewhere they can't get to themselves. Pay for someone's vacation.

I don't feel like I have to. Receiving that which is freely given is beautiful, and yet, so is giving and knowing that the gift will be sent along and passed forward, the cycle continuing.


The mosquitos are back, and so is the heat. The cool season was not really cool at all, though perhaps it's because I forgot what the hot season was like. I didn't much notice the change except for the few cool mornings in late December. But I did notice the heat. And the mosquitos.

Were they this bad before? I assume so, as I've been bitten much less in the past few months but seem to remember that during the wet season I was constantly being munched upon.

Speaking of before, and time -- why am I always talking about time?

I was biking home from work today and thinking that I've been here just over 7 months now, which is no time at all and yet fairly significant. I found myself wondering what sparkling clean streets and sidewalks might look like, and if I'd notice them. I was trying to find a picture online of the motorbike I want to buy eventually and could only find these enormous models, nothing like the little things filling the streets here.

I was thinking about how I literally knew nothing about this country before I arrived and well, I still don't know a lot but Cambodia is not just the name of a country very far away that I may or may not have read in a textbook at some point. I was thinking about how no one knows the street names or numbers, they just know how to get where they need to go and how things look, and how I think in terms of what is near what. Thinking about how the Phnom Penh traffic is normal to me, and I feel perfectly comfortable on my bike, weaving through traffic. On the routes I usually take, I know where each pothole is.

It doesn't seem that long, and it seems like a lifetime. I'm dearly looking forward to my upcoming trip home for a thousand reasons, but sometimes I find myself a little apprehensive about re-entering that rich, western world on the other side of the ocean. Cambodia is where I live and sometimes I forget it's a third-world country, because it's just what it is and that's that. But sometimes I remember, and think about the first-world, and wonder what it will look like -- and though I know, in theory, I think the actuality will feel different than the memory.

Including -- and perhaps especially -- the food. At the beginning I found Khmer food very strange and the taste odd, but now I actually really enjoy it. I don't know how to cook it, so my diet at home has gotten pretty pathetic, but I miss it when I go without for a certain time. At lunch today, digging the meat out of a whole grilled fish and pulling it off the bone with my teeth, I thought about the Gillian who wouldn't go near fishheads, and laughed a little.

I've been quite anxious to leave the past couple weeks, in desperate need of a vacation (one month of high stress and lack of eating well and sleeping well somewhat alarmingly shaved 3-4 kilos off me and I still don't know where from), but I guess today I took the time to look around and think that, although it is nothing like my life before, this place is pretty cool.

And besides. At the rate in which time is slipping through my fingers (more so than usual, I mean), tomorrow I'll be on a plane.

That will be pretty cool, too.

A moto ride to the middle of nowhere

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lobby of my guesthouse. So pretty! 

The NGO. 

Sunset. 

Coconut with dinner! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here are a few photos from the day:

My bike. I look ridiculous on it. 

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

Spring rolls!! yum! 

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

That's what I'm talking about. 

Some days...

You just have to quit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Market OD (No seriously)

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

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

And then I went inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo/video blog: to the market

Taking full advantage of my last day endowed with a camera (thank YOU, Marta!!), I decided to take you along as I went to the market to buy my usual fruits and veggies. I took some videos as well, which will hopefully work. 

The first thing I wanted to say was this: having a camera gives such a different energy. When it is just me, striding along as though I know where I'm going (and by now, I do), I think people accept that I must live here. But with a camera slung around my neck -- and maybe it was because I was looking, or not from anyone else at all but my own impression of myself -- the energy changed. Suddenly I was A Tourist, and eyed as such. 

I didn't like it, and it is one of the big reasons why I am against cameras in general and why I don't currently own one (though it's still on my wishlist, a growing affair for whenever I have disposable income again, which could be awhile). So I took the camera from my neck and wrapped the strap around my wrist instead. It was still obvious, but less aggressive, I thought, and I could take more surreptitious pictures. It also means they are much more wonky, and the videos shaky, but hey. It's real time. 

Heading out the gate, I saw this fantastic tuk tuk and had to take a picture. 

This video was taken on my walk, to give you an idea of the sights, sounds, and etc.

Here I am heading into the market.

I got the veggies first, as usual. 

Photo from the wrist

Heading back towards my favorite fruitseller.

Photo along the way...

Some ramboutan at the fruit stand...

And some dragonfruit (and a friend).

Bananas hanging from the ceiling! 

The fruit haul. (For five dollars and seventy five cents.)

And the veggie haul. For seventy five cents.

Considering the amount of time it has taken me to format, upload, and generally make pretty this post, you can safely assume I will be happy to return to words, but I'm happy to be able to share this with you at least. Tomorrow another Tuesday Night Chatter is on the way -- it's not too late to send questions! Unless you really do just want to hear what I have to say, in which case...that works just as well! 

A feast among friends

Thursday was the last day of my second workshop, this one focused on collaborative choreography (and will be the subject of a post whenever I get my act together). Greatly different from the first one, this demanded a lot of improvisation and group work.

The first week was a hodge-podge of various crazy exercises I have picked up across the years, all of them perfectly alien to my students, which were a great group of eight dancers. There were many more the first day, but the younger ones, perhaps not ready to deal with the concepts, bowed out after that and I was left with a strong, tight-knit group.

I had absolutely no sense if what I was doing was making an impact whatsoever. And yet, on Wednesday I was informed -- asked, but it felt more like being informed -- that I was going to stay after the showing on Thursday to eat with the kids.

(I say "kids," but I really shouldn't, because most of them are around my age. The youngest is sixteen; the oldest twenty-three, but the average is around twenty. I only know this by peeking at their birth dates on the registration sheets...)

Somewhat bemused, I agreed. They were really excited about it, even going so far as trying to get one of their friends to come who spoke more English. They pooled all their money, and then the next day turned up after the showing with bags full of food.

This was just snack food; they'd ordered a full meal. Dumplings, fried mushrooms, veggies, corn, toasted bred with coconut milk sauce for dipping, hot sauce, and what I assumed to be fried chicken (more on that later). To drink, they'd brought up a bunch of ice and red soda, fruit punch that was somewhat mystifyingly green, coke, and fanta.

"Yan," one of them announced, "we can eat now." When he saw I was about to put on some music, he shook his head. "No music, we talk."

So I came over to join the circle. It was all the kids from this workshop, plus one or two from the past one and a friend or two of theirs. Everyone attacked the food, chattering happily away in Khmer and making jokes. We didn't communicate with words, not really -- most of them still call me 'Teacher', but nevertheless it didn't seem to matter at all. We ate, we laughed, and although we barely understood one another, we were friends, and I knew that despite the fact they were enjoying their own inside jokes, I was included and welcomed.

About the 'chicken': I asked if it was indeed. "No," I was informed, "Frog."

Oh dear, I thought, and said, managing not to drop it like a hot coal. Now that I looked at it, it was fairly obvious, though thankfully it was missing the head and the front legs. I considered for a second, then figured it couldn't be worse than the unborn duck chick, took off one of the legs, dipped it in the sauce, and cautiously took a bite.

It wasn't that bad, actually; it was sort of like fish except not, and certainly not like chicken. But either way, I finished eating it, and by the time I glanced down, all the rest had disappeared -- frog is apparently somewhat of a delicacy, and the kids had followed my example by helping themselves.

When you sit me down and tell me to teach, I have no idea what to do, but somehow it just offering these kids what I know and love, acting as guide and mentor, I have managed to do something special. There is something wonderful about sharing food and sharing a meal, and I think honestly it doesn't matter at all that we don't really understand each other's words, because it all other respects, we understand each other perfectly.

Sunday in Phnom Penh

The heat is a bit oppressive today, and as such it is not quite four o'clock and I am dead tired. I just spent some ten minutes lying on my back and staring at the ceiling. I imagine there will be more of that before the end of the day, in fact a nap is looking increasingly likely.

This morning I went for a short tour on the bike -- hello thighs, we haven't spoken in awhile -- around Phnom Penh. I started by heading over to the riverside and biking north along the quai. It's very lovely, with the palm trees, and the sky is clear today, hence the heat. There was a bit of traffic, but nothing you can't deal with if you pay attention.

The city is small; it doesn't take long to bike. I didn't go all the way to the north, just up around street 88, then turned back and zigzagged my way back through the narrow streets to get home. My sense of direction is still as terrible as ever, but maybe it's getting better because I didn't get lost once, there were only a few times when I wasn't sure what street I was on, but that's understandable as there are very few street signs, and only on the main roads.

I really like the city; it's small and I suppose by American standards the streets are pretty narrow. All the signs are in Khmer and English, lest you forget where you are. As I've mentioned, of course, the tuk tuks are everywhere, and in the midday the drivers can often be found in the back taking a nap. Besides the restaurants, there are the nomadic food carts, their owners walking them along and tooting their horns to announce their arrival. Kind of like vendors at a sports game, only without the shouts.

I was only out for a half hour, but it was plenty enough to wear me out. I headed back out again for lunch with some friends around one thirty, to a place nearby called Khmer Surin. It's a guest house as well as a restaurant, and absolutely beautiful. The place seems to explode with plants and greenery. Dark wood and low tables, with red and gold cushions. Though you're inside, and cool in the shade, you feel like you're outside, with the green and the sky opening up above.

I had pad thai, which I know isn't Cambodian, but it was a Khmer and Thai restaurant and it was very good and cheap. I just learned yesterday the word for chili sauce and put it to good use, succeeding in ordering some. I was quite proud of myself...

We stayed a long time. The food was very good and it was so calming. Just next to us was a little pool and a fountain, and what with the green, you could just stay forever.

However, we didn't, and the bike ride home was enough to dispel whatever cool I had managed to gain at the restaurant. I'm now trying to decide what to do with myself for the rest of the evening. Tomorrow is the start of everything and I admit to being somewhat apprehensive, but mostly just exciting to kick things off. As many people can attest, I don't do nothing very well.

I'm supposed to meet the dean of the university of fine arts in the morning as well, and I don't know for the life of me exactly what I plan on asking about, but I figure it's someone very good to know and I'm sure I can extemporize. Talking to people has never been a problem...

It looks to be a busy week, and all the better. Vacation -- if you can call it that -- is over, and now back to life. As I noted after graduation, I have nothing else but that for as far as I can see.

Saturday Afternoon

Let me paint you a picture:

The patio is neat and deserted. Everyone is inside, as they well should be, but I wanted to sit here and watch. The tables are glass topped, and the patio is fenced in by black iron, every few tables a plant to add a touch of green. To my right, the parking lot; not much to see there, besides the army of motos and tuk tuks across the street, waiting in the shade for the customers leaving the shopping center.

In front of me the drive curls around to the parking garage. A staircase proclaiming "214Lounge" heads up to, presumably, a lounge, the 214 coming from the number of the street.

The ice cream in front of me is melting quickly in the hot air. Under the table are a couple bags with loot from the supermarket inside the shopping center; seasonings, a lot of noodle soup, balsamic vinegar and olive oil, a dustpan. The makings of a home, for less than fifteen dollars.

Lest you think it was too much like home, to the side of the parking lot are the little miniature temples, set up for the ancestors. They are like little gold houses on pedestals, intricately formed and beautiful, filled with small gifts and offerings. These offerings are everywhere -- unobtrusive, and you don't necessarily see them unless you're looking, but everywhere.

Behind them, the street is lined with palm trees and another kind of tree with a brilliant red flower. Everything is deeply green and deeply colorful. There's a white apartment building beyond, a few palm trees on a rooftop garden.

Things are completely uncertain, but at that moment, I was at peace. I realized that even if I succeed in giving only one private lesson a week -- people have been urging me to go the route of private tutoring -- it will essentially pay my grocery bills. The thought was quite encouraging, as I have been impatiently wondering just when I am going to start getting income.

Soon, I thought, savoring the now very gooey ice cream. The server, surprised I could speak even a few words of Khmer, asked me in Khmer if I spoke it. I stared at her blankly, but when she translated, I smiled.

Ch'hey tac tac, I said.

Only a little.

Sampling the local delicacies

Which proved to be the most challenging adventure yet...

Last night for dinner, we had one of the local delicacies: cooked, fertilized duck eggs.

Yes, eggs with ducklings inside. I have been told that the ones we had were further along than people usually eat them and therefore you don't usually have a mostly formed duckling to deal with inside. This is good to know, as --- well, I think you understand.

With the rounded part of the egg up, you crack the top and break the skin. Then, you put in a little sauce made from lime juice and salt and pepper, and drink the fluid inside. Then you just dig in with a spoon. If you're like me and realize that what you're trying to dig out is in fact the head of a little duckling, you freak out, flip the head back in, and pass it off to your friend to deal with.

I did have a couple bites, but finding it hard to eat because it was a lot of bone, I decided to stop, a decision applauded by my adopted Cambodian family, who said that usually the ducklings are not so fully formed and thus much easier to eat and forget about what it is you're actually eating.

I don't really have anything against the practice -- people eat all sorts of crazy things -- but the duck head was a bit much for me. I think I would give it another go if the thing inside didn't resemble a baby bird quite so much.

The verdict from my adopted Cambodian Dad?

"You passed."

Good to know!

Dinner with the locals

(This post was written last night, to be published today.)

I just got back from dinner at this tiny little roadside restaurant, where my friend and I were the only guests and the rest of the team – a family, or close friends – sat at the neighboring table and had their own dinner.

It was a bit late when we met up, close to eight, and I wasn’t sure if there was going to be any place open. My neighborhood is pretty safe, but still I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to go wandering about at night on the third (fourth?) day in a foreign country. We were heading for somewhere a few blocks away but decided instead to turn down a closer street.

What we thought was a fairly large restaurant was in fact a gym (take note, Gillian who hasn’t been exercising in god knows how long), but this place was not far away and appeared somewhat open.

We asked them and they happily welcomed us. One of them spoke very good English and came to chat with us and take our order. They didn’t have a menu, but told us what they had. I ordered fried noodles with beef and my friend a chicken soup. Once that was taken care of, our new Cambodian friend stayed to ask us what we were doing in the country, and chatted amiably for quite a while.

We ordered a couple beers, the local brand (Angkor), and he headed off to the table next to ours, coming back a few minutes later to offer a cheers, which his table seemed to be doing an inordinate amount of.

The food came in a bit, and turns out, it was delicious. Simple, but very good, and we had a lovely time eating. At the end there was a bit of a mixup on the bill – the girl gave us 300 riel back when it should have been 13000 – but after finally working out that there was a problem, Gillian having issues with her very latent math skills, we turned back in the rain and explained. They were very nice about it and we got the extra 10000, so it worked out well.

But let me tell you about this place. Like all of the restaurants, it lacked a front wall, inside spilling out into the street. The walls were whitewashed and tiny little lizards skittered across them. The tables and chairs were plastic, the dishes and the chopsticks white. Out front a cart to make the munchies or the meat, I’m not sure, but covered with some kind of umbrella, either with the Angkor logo or something similar.

The floor inside was tiled, and a covering stretched out into the street, protecting from the rain, which has been downpouring since about six o’clock this evening.

I fully intend on returning, because now, I think, I can maybe make friends with the owners. The food was good, and cheap – two fifty for the meal, about 90 cents for the beer.

When I got home, sticky and wet for the monsoon, I took a cold shower and listened to the rain hit the metal roof. Tonight I really enjoy my life; I confess to being a bit lonely earlier on, having gotten very used to having my family a phone call/text away. Now, we’re separated by thirteen hours and a very large ocean. I’m settled enough to start missing everyone, my friends and family, but after a dinner like that, I’m reminded why I did what I did and flew halfway around the world. Crazy, sure.

But so very worthwhile.  

The food, and the drivers

In other words, you need a helmet.

At least for the latter, but perhaps for the former too. I mentioned that nobody cares what side of the road you drive on, and I mean it. The scariest part is at intersections, as most don't have lights and you just have to grit your teeth, slow down, and wiggle your way through the throngs of oncoming traffic. The other is that there aren't really street signs and when you take the time to look at the shop signs to see the street, you aren't paying attention to the road. It's a balancing act for sure...

With that said, I adore the chaos. I found my way to the Orussey market, another mess of stands and smells and things to buy, food and fabric and motorbikes and water filters and if you can dream it, you can find it. It's so much it sprawls out from the main building and onto the surrounding streets, as though the sheer amount of stuff being sold fell from the sky and blurted out the sides.

I bought a helmet. It was the first success of the day, the second being buying a "numpai", a steamed pork bun, for a snack and conducting the transaction entirely in Khmer. Yes, aren't I cool.

In the meantime, I'm learning quickly how to eat Cambodian food. It's just so different that at first I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but the last few meals have tasted really good, so maybe I'm learning.

The biggest thing is this: I will need to, and am already making progress, swiftly get over my aversion to fish heads. The fish are served whole here. There is no such thing as a filet or a boneless chicken breast. Everything has bones. Chicken claws are not excluded from the chicken when cooked.

Rice is of course served with everything and the food itself is not spicy, like Thai food, but filled with spices. Cambodians love to mix everything together to get the mix that suits them. The most popular dish is, as far as I can tell, Amok, which is some concoction of coconut milk, fish, and a bunch of spices. Everyone makes it differently, so I've heard, but it's very yummy.

Fish is served with fish sauce and some kind of pickled veggies. Fish cakes with eggs are eaten with raw vegetables. There is a lot of soup, and a lot of veggies. I had a very good pineapple and beef concoction the other day.

Then there's the fruit. Green mangoes, which I'm not so sure about yet, but then there are ramboutan, mangosteen, lychees, and some little thing that's like a lychee but not that I can't remember the name of - langsat, says google. Dragonfruit, and green oranges; apparently the most outlandish thing I've said so far is, "How can it be an orange if it's not orange?"

I still don't have an answer, but green or not, it's an orange.

Though I'm still settling in, I already love living here. I met some fellow ex-pats last night, with the same idea as me to explore the local culture fully. Now equipped with a bike, I fully intend on exploring...

PS. The camera will have to wait until I have paying work. Until then, I'll do my best to make my words count.

Markets, Khmer, and Tuk Tuks...

I'm not sure where to begin.

HOW should I begin? With what, doing where, going how? I don't usually have expectations about things so I can't say it's what I expected, but it is...it is as expected nothing like anywhere I have ever been.

I am really terrible at writing descriptions and explanations. You'll find that soon, and hopefully sooner rather than later I'll have a camera and all of us will be spared my stumbling attempts. Either way, for the moment I'll stay away from them, and just tell you what I think is important.

Let's start this way: the roofs are colorful. Flying in, it's a mess of color, green of the trees, brick red, deep blue roofs, white, everything else thrown in for kicks. On the street you don't see the colors of the roofs, but it's still a mess. Umbrellas, carts, restaurants but without front windows. The streets are packed with motos and tuk tuks and a few cars, and nobody seems to care which side of the road you drive on. The motos weave in and out of everything -- often you'll see the moto taxis with one or two people sitting on the back, and if you walk down the street, the drivers -- moto and tuk tuk -- will offer rides incessantly.

The city is small but any time you don't know where you're going it seems bigger. There doesn't appear to be any street signs, only a few on the main roads. People seem to operate on landmarks and a solid knowledge of their neighborhoods.

Everywhere there is something to buy. It's cheap if you go where the locals go and extremely expensive if you go Western. Someone is always selling something, phones, bikes, water. Parking seems to be another adventurous activity -- my friend has a driver, and in being chauffered around, I noticed that almost all shops have an assistant whose job is to park the cars and make sure the tuk tuks go around when the car is backing up. They open the door for you to get out, and I guess receive a few riels in return.

Yesterday happened, and exactly what happened I'm not sure I could tell you -- I arrived in Phnom Penh around noon and the rest of the day existed in a haze, being bombarded with sights and sounds, information, and in the meantime trying to trick my body into believing that it wasn't actually in the middle of the night.

I managed to stay awake until 8:30, barely, enjoying a traditionally Cambodian meal for dinner with my friend's parents; chicken and ginger, a fish soup, and some kind of stew with some kind of eggs, meat, and veggies. With rice, of course, and fresh lychees and mangosteens for dessert.

What else --- I decided that my current wardrobe is drastically inadequate for the culture and the heat and have already set about rectifying that. It's somewhat conservative here, so I already have a pair of 'aladdin' pants, which are light and airy but cover a lot. I also bought a light dress, with small sleeves and calf length, and will soon add a very light shirt to cover my shoulders for the dresses I have. Apparently white skin is deeply coveted here, and despite the heat the locals cover most of their skin, even going so far as to use whitening creams.

I'm already working on learning the language -- it bugs me greatly to not be able to communicate with the locals in their own tongue and English is pretty spotty anyway. I can say basic things like thank you and please, I would like to go, etc, along with "I am a teacher in the arts," "more rice please," and how to count to twenty. It's not a difficult language, but the pronunciation is crazy and I don't think I will ever be able to read it. But most signs are in both English and Khmer, so I don't really have to. It's just the speaking that's the trick.

I also already have a Cambodian nickname -- while in English nicknames usually come from the first syllable -- for mean, "Gill" -- but here it's the last. My friend's mom has trouble saying Gillian because the soft g sound doesn't really exist here. So now she calls me 'yan', from the "ian" at the end. I actually quite like it.

But before I go don't let me forget to talk about the markets. They are cramped and busy and you can buy whatever it is you please. Bargaining is allowed and encouraged, and the shopkeepers either recruit customers or can be found napping in their stalls. Things are cheap, but apparently the prices jack up if you're white.

I suppose the most jarring for me were the piles of fresh fish and dead chickens, being gutted and cleaned as you watch. I guess it's a good way to see where your food is coming from, but it smelled too much of blood for me. I suppose it's something you get used to, and I want to buy fruit for breakfast. Overwhelming, busy, but fascinating.

I think, actually, that could be said for everything here.

How to have a French dinner party

(All ideas are stolen from my host mother and the absolutely lovely soirée she had last saturday night with a few members of her family.)

The beginning: Champagne. I advise you to choose a champagne "brute", as opposed to "sec"  or "demi-sec". This is heartily confusing because "sec" in French means dry, but a champagne sec is much sweeter than a champagne brute. Go figure. In any case, buy a good bottle of champagne, pour everyone a flute, and do a "cliquer", a toast, to whatever you would like to toast. If you can't think of anything, "santé!" is always a good choice. To health.

Appetizers: NO guacamole please. In fact, it is very important that your appetizers be extremely light and small. A small pan of bite size cocktail treats and a glass of thin breadsticks should do the trick.

First course: Soup. Make enough so that everyone gets two nice spoonfuls, but not enough to fill them up. A nice creamy soup is a good choice, like a squash soup or something similar. Serve with a sliced baguette -- if you want to be really authentic, break it with your hands. To drink, red wine. (Make sure you've put it in a decanter beforehand so it's nice and smooth).

Main course: Everyone should be absolutely finished with the soup before you bring out the main dish. The dish I'm suggesting comes from the South of France and is a very traditional meal. It is comprised of three things: cooked apples, a fresh eggy pasta, and a duck confit (fairly rare in the middle, more well done on the edges). The duck is eaten with a kind of creamy sauce -- if I had to guess I would say it somehow involves dijon mustard. The three are mixed or not, according to your preference. The wine glasses are kept half full (generally speaking they are never filled entirely).Another basket of bread is usually appreciated.

Cheese course: No French meal is complete with a cheese course. You don't want to buy too many different types of cheese, so go for a nice good camembert (President brand is usually good) and a chevre (goat cheese). Pair it with a somewhat more firm bread, sliced this time.

Dessert: Before you bring out dessert, ask if anyone wants coffee, "un petit café". This is usually served AFTER the dessert. For this, why not a "fruits rouges" crumble -- literally means "red fruits", but usually refers to berries. Blackberries, rhubarb, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries -- you can buy them frozen. They are probably cooked with some sort of gelatin and a lot of sugar, and then sprinkled with a crumble and baked until the crumble is crunchy and slightly brown, and the fruits are warm.

Coffee: By which I mean ESPRESSO. The French do NOT drink regular coffee after dinner. They don't usually have decaf, either, but fortunately the caffeine of the café is counteracted by the wine. Drink slowly.

The evening is finished off by finishing the wine and having a bit of mineral water. Of course I shouldn't have to mention that conversation is the key to any dinner party. Don't have too many guests -- 7 is a good number -- so everyone can feel included and participate in the conversation. In a cross culture setting, you can easily talk about the culture differences and gently poke fun at the others.

(As you can see, it was a wonderful evening. I apologize for my lack of posting. I would bore you with the details, but suffice to say, I just don't have a lot of free time and this epidemic is about to get worse in the coming weeks. Apologies in advance. I'll do my best)>

Martha Stewart, French style

Photo blog for you today! In which I 'ranger ma chambre et avoir un diner très français.' Clean the room, have a french dinner.

I pulled my hair back for the occasion...

So to begin. Colette asked me to clean the room, which involved stripping/remaking the bed (she washes the sheets), and vacuuming the floor. I wish I had remembered to take a picture of the vacuum, as it was intensely complicated and had a hidden power cord. After a few minutes of silent contemplation, Colette called from the living room, "Tu as besoin de conseil?" Do you need help? Slightly embarrassed, I called back, "Oui..."

She showed me where the power cord was to be found, plugged it in, and then suggested that I dust first and then vacuum up all the dust I would have just displaced. Good point, Colette. I went to get the duster. Once this was all finished, including the vacuuming, then it was time to wrestle with the bedding. We started like this:

Il faut commencer avec le drap blanc, puis le marron, puis mettre la tétine dedans le duvet. Start with the white sheet, then the brown, then put the comforter IN the duvet and button it up somehow, like so:

and put it all together in a somewhat attractive manner...voilà:

So arranged la chambre. Now for the french dinner. I had a bit of avocado earlier, but here are the main elements necessary for any french dinner:

(That's cheese, by the way. If I was really being French, it'd be Camembert, but I had this instead. I know, bad me). And of course, du pain (une baguette).

And of course...

So you add it all together, have a lot of bread and cheese, a bit of wine, and for dessert... nutella. Only problem was that I had to put it in a crêpe salée, also known as a galette, meaning a salty crêpe. You really should eat nutella with un crêpe sucrée. But I had to make do.

Voila les éléments pour le diner parfait -- ou le meilleur que je pourrais faire ce soir. The best I could do for the moment.

Bisous mes amis!!

August 18th, 2010

This morning, 6:04AM: The alarm goes off, gets snoozed. It goes off again, and I drag my carcass out of bed and into the shower, in a hazy of sleepiness.
6:38AM: I leave the house, noticing that my bike helmet has gone missing somehow -- probably left it at Raj's place.
6:49AM: I arrive at the hotel, lock the bike, and go inside to change, only to discover that I don't have my shirt or name tags or anything at all. I will get in big trouble if I go out there without it.
6:55AM: I arrive back home, sweating and panting, and get the shirt, and run back out the door.
7:01AM: After biking like a bat out of hell, I pull into the parking lot of the hotel and suddenly remember that the schedule, as last I saw it, has me working from 1800-2200 today. That would be 6PM-10PM, ie, I wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. The air, suspiciously, turns blue.
7:06AM: Straggling home, I realize that I also have a dinner date tonight with our friend Nancy, who really helped Hilary and I out in getting started. The air turns even more blue. I also start to really wish this is a dream, and I'll look down and realize that I'm not wearing any pants, and in a flash of horror, wake up.
7:15ishAM: I finish straggling home, really sweaty now and still frustrated as hell, and get on the phone with the restaurant. Fortunately, it seems likely that I can get the shift covered.
7:36AM: Somewhat reassured, I decide that, since I am still barely awake, the best thing I can do now is fight back against the world by boldly going to bed.

I was asleep for a good three hours, a time filled with disturbing, strange, anxious dreams that I can't remember a lick of now. After that, I decided I could probably face the world again, and spent a low key time hanging out -- I also talked to my mom for a bit, which always helps.

We are now at one week until Asheville departure. I still haven't even thought about packing -- though I have thought about thinking about packing and I have thought about how I DON'T want to think about packing.

It's funny with a blog -- I'm not really sure how much I want to say here that doesn't involve me -- I guess I'm still old school in that I don't trust the internet one bit, and I don't want to compromise anyone -- and in some cases, I'm just not really sure how much information about what I think I want out there. I guess I assume that if you're a close friend, you'll know about it. And should I even bother hemming and hawing about it then? In any case, I just wanted to say that the big gaps and the "don't care to elaborates" will probably stick around for a bit, so don't feel left out, you probably aren't alone. E-mail me or something if you really care to know. I'll also keep my more scathing opinions of things to myself, because they don't do anyone any good and most of them are of the moment and become less true with time. I keep a policy of being kind and even over the internet -- what a thought -- I will keep that.

I'm sorry. I'm still tired. This past week wasn't very kind to me or my memory (as this morning will clearly attest). Also, at the moment, and quite unrelated, I really, really want to take out my contacts. However, I can't, because I'm at work, and I need to see for the rest of the week. I can't imagine sleeping for three hours with them in helps with that.

Yesterday was the first day all summer excepting our trip to Atlanta that Raj and I had the same day off, which was lovely. We spent most of it -- after sleeping as late as possible -- shopping. We ended up wandering around Lowe's for more than an hour with his roommate, looking at fridges and discussing the merits of stove tops and wall ovens. It was wonderful, in a strange kind of way. Some guy in one of those motorized carts stopped to chat with us for quite awhile -- he told me he had multiple sclerosis and also gave me some very kind compliments (and in very good taste), so that was cool. We then moved on to goodwill and spent at least another hour or two there. I picked up a few pieces that I really like, so that was nice. I also found this vintage book called "les rues de Paris", which is this little book that with maps of all the arrondissements, a directory of anything you want to find in Paris pretty much (like Churches, post offices, museums, hell, even a justice of the peace), and a giant pull out map. It's amazing. I saw it and I was like, MUST HAVE.

After another lovely dinner of spaghetti and red wine, cooked by Raj's roommate (who actually is in culinary school), I headed back home with a box fan and bookshelf in tow (the roommate has a car(!)). Of course then there was the debacle this morning, but we can just pretend that didn't happen, right?

In any case. I must move on, keep clicking, moving, and see where life brings me next.

Until next time.

EDIT,10:56PM: At which point I would like to say that there are very few problems that good wine, good food, good company, and good conversation can't fix. We met our friend Nancy and went to the fresh market, along the way trying to decide something to cook. I suggested feta cheese, and the menu exploded from there. We ended up making a fabulous Italian-ish dish, by sauteing mild italian sausage with onions, garlic, and olive oil, then separately sauteing roma and heirloom tomatoes with the same, and adding both to fettuccini and crumbling feta cheese over the top. We had yellow tomatoes and fresh mozzerella balls for the appetizers (served, if you wanted, on crackers), and paired it all with garlic bread and some good white wine (though we had half a glass of red to finish off the meal). We finished the whole evening with a mix of chocolate hazelnut and blackberry cabernet gelato, and I must say, it was probably one of the best evenings of food and conversation we've had all summer. It was incredibly good and incredibly fun, and after about two and a half glasses of wine, the world just doesn't seem so scary.

I suggest that recipe, by the way. It doesn't disappoint. If you need details, e-mail me.