More adventures in Battambang

     Forgive me if I repeat myself. Sometimes I can't remember whether I've mentioned something here already, and frankly, I'm too lazy to go back and re-read the previous posts. So please forgive me if I repeat myself...


     We had a five-day weekend because of the Pchum Ben holiday. We used our time off well, spending some time around the house doing very little or only exactly what we wanted, and going off on a weekend adventure by boat to Battambang province. Every day involved social gatherings of some sort - Richard, the doctor from the clinic came over one day to work and have lunch. Voleak, our 17-year-old volunteer translator from the clinic, came to visit one afternoon as well. She provided even more insight into the Cambodian high school experience, like how much you have to pay the teacher if you want to make a change in your classes or cheat on an exam. ($10 and $5 respectively, and it's the teacher who offers the opportunity and price.) Several of the children from our Khmer "family" at Seven Candles came one morning to eat toast and watch TV and work on our papier mache project again. 


     We went to visit Jaz's friend Boromey in the hospital a couple of times after he had a motorbike accident. I'm so worried about what will happen to him. He's a 19-year old high school student who lives with his sister and has worked as a waiter for $30/month while going to school. He hopes to go to university someday and become a lawyer, but right now he has a broken arm and a broken jaw, and no medical treatment. He stayed in a private clinic (aka "hospital") for two days, where they X-rayed him, stitched up his face, gave him an IV of glucose water and put his broken arm in a splint. Then he went home, because he couldn't afford the surgery to fix his arm. My mission on Monday was to visit him at home and figure out what the whole story is. His sister had called in a Khmer "doctor" who appeared to have wrapped Boromey's arm in what looked like a bamboo placement tied with strips of cloth. I would have thought that arm needed surgery, but thanks to the magic of the internet, I photographed his X-ray, emailed it to Richard, who forwarded it to a hotshot orthopod in London. The opinion was that he could heal well enough if it was properly immobilized long enough. The more immediate concern is his broken jaw, which means he can't chew, and the kid only weighs about 100 pounds to start. I brought him liquid vitamins and protein powder, and I'm glad he at least has family to take care of him while he tries to heal.


     And we think our healthcare system is in bad shape...

     Other adventures during this holiday included our boat trip to Battambang, which should have taken five hours but instead took twelve. Our 2:00 arrival time became 9:00, and it gets very, very dark at about 6:15. The boat broke down completely on two occasions, leaving us drifting in circles on the lake and requiring the boat man to strip to his underwear, jump in the water, remove the propeller, and perform a variety of small miracles with the aid of a hammer and a wrench. Imagine the pressure on a Khmer man in his wet underwear, working feverishly on mechanical problems while being stared at by a captive audience of foreigners with nothing else to do... Poor guy. 

     We had to stop a time a two so he could clear out the propeller when it became choked up with water hyacinth. But most interestingly, we got lost quite a bit, which may seem odd until you understand the route. We had to cross a large section of open lake and then navigate what can best be described as a complete labyrinth of waterways before getting to the river for the last part of our journey. This maze is ever-changing and there are areas of open water and sections where you must travel through a narrow channel with the tops of flooded trees whipping the boat on the both sides. There are floating villages, but I'm not sure they remain in the same place throughout the year, so they don't make good landmarks. And there are acres and acres of floating plants that drift and shift and gather into impenetrable tangles and require constant decision-making about which way to go to best avoid them. (Fellow Vermonters, imagine your most complicated corn maze, and multiply the complexity and the stakes by 10.)

     It's not like our boat man was unwilling to ask directions along the way - several times he stopped to ask locals about the best route, but some of the directions were not clear enough and we ended up going more than an hour out of way and having to backtrack. The mood for some on the boat was grim, and some of us were just thankful that we had brought plenty of snacks and beer. Steve and I felt bad only because Sovann was waiting for us at the boat dock in Battambang city, having driven an hour from his family's home to pick us up. Despite all the other difficulties, we had almost perfect cell phone reception, so there were many calls and texts back and forth all afternoon and evening. We told Sovann to go back home and that we would stay in the city overnight, but he wouldn't leave without us. I suppose that being a tuktuk driver by trade, he is accustomed to long periods of waiting. Jaz was back home with his family, waiting and hoping and texting regularly about our status. 

     The last 3 hours or so were a bit more tense and less interesting because once it got dark, there was little to see along the way. The boat man had two lights on the front of his boat, which he would switch on for a few seconds then back off for a while, but the Cambodian countryside is dark. I suppose the biggest danger was not to us but to all the night-time fishermen who might be in our path setting fish traps, but we managed not to hit anyone. (I think.)


     When we finally arrived, it was clear that Steve needed a bed and a shower more than he needed to balance on the back of an overcrowded motorbike to ride for an hour in the dark, but I couldn't think of a better way to end such an interesting day. So Steve got a $12 room in Battambang city and I climbed on the moto with Sovann for a wild ride - not because he's a wild driver (at least not when I'm riding with him) but because particularly after seeing the results of Boromey's accident, I was overwhelmed with the potential for injury. I felt far too vulnerable on the bike, hurdling through the dark on bumpy roads with no seat belt or airbags. I confessed to Sovann that I was riding with my eyes closed, but by the end of the ride, I was far more relaxed and only wishing I could see in the dark to enjoy the passing scenery. 


     Steve caught up with us the next morning. Staying with Sovann's family, even briefly, was a thoroughly foreign and interesting experience. They live in a traditional wooden house with chickens and ducks and a cow in the yard. I'm not sure I ever figured out exactly who lives there, but it seems to be both of his parents and at least one brother, two sisters, and a nephew - none of whom speak any English. I was offered a mat on the floor complete with some pillows and a blanket and what looked to be a fresh new mosquito just out of the package. Jaz and Sovann had their own corner of the same room, and everyone else slept scattered around the house - which is really just two rooms upstairs with space under the house which is the dining room/living area. The kitchen is in a separate palm-leaf building, and the outhouse is further behind that. 

The place to shower and bathe is quite near the living space and consists of several huge ceramic urns of rainwater and river water out in the open air. I was there long enough to bite the bullet and bathe Khmer-style. 
     Here's how it's done: remove clothes and put on a sarong. Stand next to the large urn of water, scoop water with a cup and pour all over oneself. Lather up with shampoo/soap as needed. Nod politely at various family members who nonchalantly wander by on their way to do other things. Make a statement to one's daughter: "This is bizarre!" Consider her response: "They don't think so, so don't worry about it." Lather, rinse, repeat. Wish for some kind of guarantee from the universe that the sarong will NOT fall off exposing one's large, white, American body. Thank the universe when it doesn't. Wrap dry sarong over wet sarong and remove wet layer from underneath. Gather up all one's dignity and walk past various family members and visiting neighbors to go upstairs and get dressed. Close the door to the stairs to preserve privacy, but realize halfway through getting dressed that the window is open to the road outside and decide not to care that one may have provided entertainment for the whole village. Vow to blog about this experience, despite certainty that this can never be captured in words.

     The rest of the time in the countryside was spent lounging on hammocks, visiting the family's orange grove down the road, admiring Sovann's father's magic tattoos, smiling and nodding at people who came to stare at the foreigners, playing "ball" with a 3-year-old boy by kicking an empty oil can around the yard, and wondering how we might get home. We came home by "taxi" which meant a half-hour motorbike ride to a town where one could hire a 1992 Camry and driver - either pay $8 each and wait around for enough customers to fill the car, or pay $40 to hire the whole car for the 2.5-hour ride right to our doorstep. Guess which option we chose...? Lazy spendthift barangs that we are, with more money than time.... As if we had an appointment to rush home for.

     Coming home meant it was time for a real shower and some clean clothes, and a party at Seven Candles to celebrate all the drivers and volunteers who spent time putting together packages of school supplies and uniforms and distributing them at the schools. The guest house truly feels like our second home here, and I always enjoy spending time there.

     All in all, the weekend was a great adventure. The only problem was that I found myself thinking about "work" on Sunday night and dreading Monday morning. I'm going to have to give that state of affairs some serious thought.