First series, independent vowels...?

     Now that I find myself with all this free time, I'm ready to resume studying Khmer. My first attempt, back in our first few weeks here, was an exercise in frustration and humiliation. I was too tired by the end of the day, too overwhelmed with all the other things I was trying to learn, and my brain was completely unreceptive to the idea of a new alphabet, let alone new words. In that time period, I integrated one new word every few days if I was lucky. I tried to learn more, but nothing would stick for more than three minutes. My Khmer teacher would come over and I would be filled with the dread of having to admit that I hadn't done any homework, that I couldn't remember anything he had taught me at the previous lesson, and that I was a complete failure as a student. Eventually, I just started using the time to interview him about Khmer culture, Buddhism, and his life. Then after a month of that charade, I admitted that I couldn't continue.


    After I stopped studying, I started to retain a few more words, particularly those I heard every day in the clinic. I could say "headache," "sore throat," "cold," "pain," and "two pills four times a day." I also learned important terms like "hammock," "drunk," "sorry," and "cilantro." I began to recognize a word here or there when listening to conversations. I read a book that included a lot of Khmer vocabulary (with English translations) and I occasionally noticed those words around me. I began to feel like I could tackle this project again, so on Monday I began my second attempt. 


     The question when studying a new language with a whole new alphabet is whether to just learn to speak and understand, or to also learn to read. I'm way too much of a visual learner, and the Khmer alphabet is way too intriguing to look at, so now I am the equivalent of a 48-year-old first-grader, learning a few letters at a time. I figured I could handle two Khmer lessons a week, giving me time to study in between and hopefully integrate the things I was trying to learn. It's a very slow pace, especially in contrast to the Khmer people here who might work all day then go to English class for two or three hours every evening, but I'm trying to be realistic. And when Yeum, my teacher comes back this evening, I'm hoping to redeem myself somewhat in his eyes by showing him that I actually practiced and remember what we did on Monday.


     It's going to be a long road. The Khmer alphabet is one of the largest in the world, with first series and second series dependent and independent vowels. I don't even know what exactly those terms mean just yet; I just know that such things exist.


According to this website:

The Khmer alphabet is the largest alphabet in the world (Guinness Book of World Records, 1995). It consists of 33 consonants, 23 vowels and 12 independent vowels. The 23 main consonants are separated into two groups: the first series (small sound) and second series (big sound). Furthermore, each consonant has two representations, regular and subscript (like upper and lower case, except in most cases the two do not resemble one another at all). Lastly, 10 of the most used consonants have a more "formal" appearance when written in titles, in advertising, on temple walls, etc. Hence, there are 101 distinct symbols.

Each of the 23 vowels has two distinct sounds, one when it is paired with a consonant from the first series and another when it is paired with a consonant from the second series. Sometimes, a vowel takes on a third sound when the pairing is followed by a certain other consonant. Confused yet?? Too bad. There is more. There are six accents that change all rules and add even more vowel sounds. They appear over top of words and act to either shorten, lengthen or emphasize sounds. The bontop looks a lot like a straightened out apostrophe, shortens a vowel sound, at the same time altering it. The bontop pii, which looks like two straightened apostrophes, (pii=two), changes the sound of a first series consonant to a second series sound. There is another symbol to change the sound of a second series consonant to a first series, but this only applies to a limited number. The other 3 accents occur infrequently

Khmer words are written without spaces in between. This leads to confusion because many words are compounds of two others. For example, the word for rencil is "black hand". If you start reading a story about little Phanith learning how to read and write in the countryside with his favorite pencil, and you don't know this, you might wonder if he is a psychotic serial killer and furthermore, question why anyone wrote a story about him.

The Khmer language, unlike others in the area is not tonal. (compare: Thai has 5 tones, Laotian has 6 tones, Vietnamese sounds like it is spoken backwards AND it has 6 tones) This might lead a new learner to the language to the delusional idea that it is a simple language to acquire. The joke, of course, is on that learner.

Reading the above description of the division of the alphabet and the schizophrenic nature of its vowels, one can quickly calculate there is a vast array of vowel sounds. To the untrained (in this case English speaking) ear, many of these seem virtually indistinguishable. This can lead to problems.

     I think that description is better than anything I can offer you in my own words. And whatapainitisnottohavespacesbetweenthewords. 


     Now I will offer you a peek at my homework, so you can fully appreciate the fact that I've put some effort into it:

It's harder than it looks... Or my fine motor skills aren't as good as I thought they were.

Someday maybe I'll know them ALL!!!!

 

What's with the spam blog comments???

    Nothing is more fun than getting blog comments, though who knew that people spam in this format? I can't figure out what the motivation is for doing such a thing. It's not spam in the sense of someone trying to sell me something, but these strange comments that seem to flatter somehow (when you can understand them at all.)

     The blog site does a good job of filtering the spam and putting them in a separate place to be moderated before automatically publishing them. The first few made me chuckle and I promptly deleted them, though recently I've started saving them just for my own amusement. I thought I would cut and paste one here for your amusement as well:

     This one came a couple of days ago:

I be enduring be familiar with a insufficient of the articles on your website now, and I unqualifiedly like your style of blogging. I added it to my favorites net stage list and disposition be checking to assist soon. Check in view my site as well and fail me conscious what you think. Thanks.

     Gotta love those online translation sites, but I would hate to ever "fail [you] conscious." On the other hand, I'd love to know what a "favorites net stage list" is.

     So, does anyone have any insight about the purpose of these weird comments? And can anyone explain why the comments only ever get made on two very old blog entries about laundry and luggage?


     I'm sorry I deleted the first few, because they made about as much sense as the one above. Now I'm kind of hoping for more, just for laughs, but I'd truly like to understand the purpose of such odd comments. Can anyone enlighten me?

Another perspective (meaning not mine, for a change)

     Just for fun, you can read someone else's account of our October boat trip to Battambang here. Kristina provides a much more detailed account and does a lovely job with photos.

     Enjoy!

Delivery!

    I had a most welcome phone call from the local DHL office this morning - "Some boxes here for you! Where you live?" And less than an hour later, the yellow van showed up and dropped off the beautiful pile of boxes below:

     Enormous thanks go out to my mother and her friend Lorrie, who pulled together all the contents, and to Mary and Greg who donated the cost of the shipping. We were like little kids on Christmas morning opening everything.

     Much of the contents were things for Steve's classroom - a combination of things we left accessible at home in case we had the opportunity to ship them and things my mother and her friend Lorrie pulled together. Some of the contents were things we needed for everyday life that I ordered online and sent to my mother's address.  And the best part of all were the wonderful little surprises tucked into every box - iced tea mix and coffee, magazines, maple syrup, and CHOCOLATE! Besides the Costco-sized jar of Nutella, there were Halloween-sized chocolate bars stuffed into every crevice. We promptly divided them up into three equal piles so no one would have to worry about missing out on their share if they ate more slowly than the others. (We know each other well enough to be able to predict that outcome!)

     I spent the afternoon reading Harper's magazine, drinking iced tea, and savoring morsels of Butterfinger. Steve spent the afternoon organizing all the amazing new school supplies and daydreaming about how he will use them all. Jaz was thrilled to have chocolate in the house.

     DHL is amazing - delivery from Vermont took five days and there were no fees on this end. 

     The people back home who made this possible are even more amazing. Thank you!!!

Where I find myself at the moment.

Some of you may be wondering what’s been happening with me – or maybe I flatter myself by thinking that you’re wondering – but I’ll just warn you that this post is all about me, so if you’re interested in reading about Cambodia, move along, folks – there’s nothing to see here.

(And isn’t blogging just a huge exercise in self-absorption anyway? Who am I to think anyone wants to read this crap?)

I came here thinking I had skills to offer. I was quickly asked to organize and manage a clinic. I was told that the clinic was “a mess”, that no one had time to put any systems in place and therefore it was chaotic and not as effective as it could be. While I had thought I wanted an opportunity for more direct patient care rather than administrative work, I felt it could be a worthwhile challenge and that I might have the skills needed to do the job.

So I tackled it, full on. I set about trying to understand how things worked and how I could improve efficacy and efficiency. I asked everyone who worked there a thousand questions. I made notes and lists and spent time at home developing forms and systems.

When I was told that a donor had recently purchased a vehicle for the clinic’s use and that it would be available for us every day during clinic hours, I expected that was true. When the car wasn’t available or had no gas in the tank, I questioned why. When I was told to put repair requests in writing so they could be taken care of, and then nothing happened as a result of those requests, I asked what was getting in the way and how could we overcome this obstacle. When I was told that I should purchase things needed for the clinic and then request reimbursement, I did so, but then I was told by someone else in the organization that I couldn’t do that. I asked why I was hearing two different things. When a pharmacist who helps fund the clinic came to visit and provide some recommendations to improve patient safety and financial viability, I took those recommendations and made sure that all the systems we were putting in place were compatible with his identified goals. Then I sent an email update to people within the organization and the pharmacist, and was told I was “not allowed” to communicate with donors.

I was asked to “be the boss” of the clinic, to “get this place running smoothly.” I took it seriously. Together with the GP who was there during my first two months on the job, protocols were developed, and unnecessary and dangerous prescribing by the Khmer “doctor” were drastically reduced. Some nurse volunteers came and went and reported a positive experience in the clinic. We stopped running out of medicines as the inventory and purchasing systems went into place. We began to keep actual records of patient’s clinic visits. We began to refer patients to other appropriate healthcare providers in the community to get them the specialized care they needed.  The Khmer translator staff eagerly studied new vocabulary and seemed genuinely happy.

There were enormous challenges, but it was exhilarating at times. Progress could be seen. It was far from perfect, but some things were working and some were in the process of being figured out.

But I made some mis-steps along the way. I have little tolerance for those who aren’t willing to put in some effort, and a couple of people within the organization (but not directly in the clinic) struck me as those who were much more interested in their own best interests than in doing a good job. While I thought I was being polite but firm, they thought I was being rude – my mistake in not yet understanding the cultural implications of my communication style. Unfortunately, both of these people happened to have more power within the organization than I understood initially – though to this day I cannot understand why they do. And while there are very few people in the world in whom I cannot find any redeeming qualities, these two might be at the top of that short list. I suppose it’s fair to say that I don’t like them, and they appear to know it (despite my efforts to be diplomatic) and I’m sure they dislike me too. Language gaps (one is Khmer and one is Nigerian) mean that that the subtleties of communication are lost and we probably don’t even read each other’s body language very accurately.

Anyway, the damage was done. My occasional efforts to smooth over ruffled feathers went nowhere. I began to get fewer responses to my emails and calls to the organization’s directors, until I felt I was being ignored completely. So I carried on, providing email updates where I thought appropriate, and wondering how an organization could ask someone to do a job and then never think to check in from time to time about how the work was actually going. Not exactly my management style – but then again, I should have known something was off when I was told by one of my nemeses mentioned above that my management style was “wrong.” I was told that I “worked too hard” and I needed to slow down and tell other people what to do so they could “earn [my] approval and be proud of themselves” for that. I explained that my style is to try to set an example, and never ask anyone to do anything that I’m not willing to do myself (if I’m capable.)

And then I was called into his office to be told that I “wasn’t a team player” and that I asked too many questions. I told him that nothing would please me more than to feel part of a larger team within the organization, and I had been hoping that management would extend any invitation at all to be part of that team. (Perhaps responding to emails would be a good way to start…?) In the meantime, I had worked hard to focus on the clinic and nurture a sense of teamwork there, which I thought was going well.

Then I was told – and this is a direct quote, because I was taking notes and I even asked him to repeat himself – that “the goal of ‘the team’ is to actualize the dreams of the owners of the organization.” I was stunned – I would have bet that the goal was to provide the best educational and health support for the population we identify as our clients.  And I would never have thought of the founders of a charity as “owners.” The depth and breadth of the gap between our styles and our vision about this work became suddenly clearer – this very well-paid “manager” had his priorities, and I was not playing by his rules. He had plenty more to say, as did I, but there was no common ground.

There were other issues that left me with unanswered questions: issues of transparency, fiscal responsibility, mission and purpose. I will leave those topics alone.

This meeting marked a change in perspective about my place in this organization.  Long emails were sent (some were accidentally sent to my blog subscriber list – oops!) and got perfunctory replies.  I spent many hours wrestling internally with whether I would stay or go – I believed in the potential of the clinic and I enjoyed my coworkers there, but I couldn’t imagine staying on in a place where I had such vast differences with the management (and “owners”) of the organization. I wondered if leaving the position would mean I was selfishly prioritizing my own ego over the potential good I might be able to do by staying. I asked myself if my expectations were reasonable, and whether I came here to have an easy life or a productive life. I thought in circles about what I saw as the problems and whether I thought they were insurmountable. I berated and then forgave myself for not understanding the lay of the land soon enough. I wondered what to do.

And then they made it easy. During a two-and-a-half hour meeting with the “owners” and management, I was told the following:

•        I did a lot of really good work in the clinic, but
•        I didn’t understand the chain of command
•        I was not allowed to communicate with people outside the organization
•        I needed to slow down – in fact, I should probably “take some Valium, like the rest of us!”
•        I must 100% support the philosophy of the organization

Then I was asked if I could do that – change my personality and 100% support their philosophy. Since no one has ever defined what the philosophy is, I am left to draw my own conclusions about it based on my observations over three months.

I told them I would think about it, but there wasn’t much more thinking to do. Two days later I gave them one week’s notice. (I figured that I gave the VNA six month’s notice after working there for 23 years, so one week was sufficient for a job I held for less than three months.) They seemed surprised.

The worst part was telling the clinic staff. I was not prepared for tears from young Khmer men. I struggled with how to explain the decision without putting them in any position of discomfort about conflicting loyalties. I cried with them. Then I worked harder than ever for the final week to accomplish as much as I could.

I spent a week being pissed off and sad and self-righteous and discouraged. I exercised enough self-restraint not to blog about it then. I whined on Facebook and to my friends via email. I endured the psychic discomfort of questioning my own motives.

Then I spent the weekend in the hammock and got a grip. And as I so often do, I found solace and direction in a quote from someone else:

“I beg you..to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer…”   - Rainer Maria Rilke

So I’m learning. And I’m trying to live the questions rather than expect to find the answers. When the time is right, I imagine I will find other things to keep me busy. In the meantime, I will read and write and study Khmer and take bike rides. I will spend time in the hammock. I will listen to the birds and the dogs and the geckoes and the monks. I will grow sunflowers and cherry tomatoes. I will see what happens next.

Most of the clinic and outreach team - over for drinks on Friday night.

I appreciate an honest self-assessment

     We passed this restaurant while out on a bike ride yesterday. I appreciate its lack of pretension - they're a one star restaurant, and they know it. "We are what we are. Come in and eat here, or don't. But come with appropriate expectations."

      If only all organizations were willing to be transparent. *sigh*

     (OK, I know that the name has nothing to do with the Michelin restaurant rating system, but once again, I prefer to amuse myself with my own interpretation.)

One Star Restaurant
We Are What We Are.

  

Gridlock

     Water Festival in Cambodia has just come to an end, which means that the town is eerily quiet today. This town really transforms for 2-3 days - the river is lined with people watching the dragon boat races, food stalls and carnival games and rickety amusement rides are set up along the riverside, beer tents appear and draw brisk business, music blares and fireworks explode and a general sense of revelry rules. It makes for lots of good people-watching, and makes it next to impossible to get across town due to the absolute gridlock of bicycles, motorbikes, tuktuks, vans, trucks, tractors and people on foot. The few traffic lights in town don't begin to handle the hordes, and everything comes to a grinding halt, too crowded even to ride your bicycle through at times. (I've seen people lift their bicycles over the heads and carry them between the jammed cars and other vehicles.)

Gridlock on Wat Bo Road

Score! Seven people on one moto!
(Count heads if you don't believe me.)

     I had some wonderful and interesting moments during the festival, which I'll tell you more about shortly, but I'm sure some of you are wondering about my interesting adventures at work last week. Those who subscribe to the blog notification emails know a bit about those adventures, since I inadvertently sent (to all 45 of you) a juicy email meant only for Steve that consisted of a draft of a letter to someone at "work." Those who don't subscribe to those emails - and now I bet you wish you did! - should know that I'm having some..."conflicts" with management there. I alluded to that in a posting last week, so I don't really need to say more.

     As you might imagine, I was horrified when it was pointed out to me that I had accidentally sent the email to the whole list - not so much because of the content, but because I was really embarrassed about having made the technical error of selecting the wrong email address. It's something I always feared doing, and given the volume of email I write, it's only surprising that I hadn't done it before - though sending it to 45 people was a bit much! The title of the email identified it as a draft and requested feedback, and I would just like to thank everyone who provided some - I hope by now that I've answered all the personal emails I got in response. I'm in awe of those who reported that they realized that I had sent it in error and deleted it without reading it all the way through. I wish I could say I would do the same if I received such an email. but I identify much more with those who read it and were only disappointed that it wasn't even more exciting. In any case, the draft was polished and sent and I've received email responses from two of the three intended recipients, and the story will continue to unfold when I go back to work on Wednesday, I'm sure. More to come.

     The five-day holiday from work came at a lovely time, and I've been trying to make the most of it. On Saturday afternoon, I spent a few hours watching the boat races with a group of young Khmers. I arranged to meet up with the girls from PAGE (Program Advancing Girls' Education), a dozen girls age 15-20 who come from the countryside and live together with a housemother and focus on their studies. I know the girls from briefly doing some English teaching with them a year ago, and try to spend some time with them when I can. I love their adolescent enthusiasm and energy, and to be honest, I love that they always seem happy to see me. (Not everyone does these days!) I also arranged to take two children from the hospital for a few hours so they could come along for the festivities.

     These two are a young sibling pair who showed up at our clinic on the first of the month. The 12-year-old sister (who looks no more than 8 or 9) was carrying her 10-month-old brother on her hip. He was feverish and severely malnourished, and I took them to the children's hospital, where he was admitted immediately for his kwashiorkor malnutrition and infection. Because anyone who is hospitalized in this country needs a family member to stay with them to tend to daily needs (there is no nursing care as we know it) and because these children had no parents or other family available, the girl has been living at the hospital and caring for her brother ever since. The backstory is still being sorted out, but it seems that their parents left for Thailand months ago to find work and haven't been heard from since. They may have been left in the care of a neighbor or an aunt, but the details are fuzzy, but it appears that no one was actually caring for them at all. I've been visiting them at the hospital to check in on them twice a week, providing money for food (hospitals also don't provide meals) and talking with the hospital staff about the progress and discharge possibilities. (Thankfully, this hospital actually does have a social work department, as well as excellent Khmer staff in general.) Since the hospital is only a couple of blocks from the riverside, I thought the girl might enjoy an afternoon out to be a kid and see the action at the water festival, and hospital staff agreed that she could leave the baby for a couple of hours - but she didn't want to leave the baby, so we took him with us. Initially, she insisted on carrying all 12 pounds of him herself, but eventually he became comfortable enough with me to let me to carry him so she could run and explore the action. We met up with the PAGE girls, who took her under their collective wing a bit, and luckily they also provided translation, as this little girl speaks no English at all. A good time was had by all of us, I think, and the only sad part was bringing them back to the hospital, as I would have rather taken them home with me.

     I will just say here that I have a collection of hospital and clinic and healthcare stories to tell - but I haven't felt ready to tell them yet. I guess I need to examine my motives for wanting to share - is it to shock you (which it will) and what would the purpose of that be? Is it to help me process what I've witnessed, and if so, must I do that publicly? I know a few of you have expressed interest in knowing more about the state of healthcare here, so I will share eventually, when I've figured out how to do it right.

     Sunday included an even bigger adventure. The PAGE girls invited to come with them to a "Full Moon Ceremony" on Sunday afternoon, which sounded mysteriously intriguing, so I accepted the invitation. As details began to materialize, I had doubts about whether I should go, but I did and I am so thankful that I did. I was told to meet them at Wat Damnak at 3:00 pm so we could leave together. Only later did I think to ask what time we would return home, and was told "maybe 1:00 am or 2:00 am, because the ceremony is at midnight!" It sounded like a loooong day, and I had no idea what we would be doing for all those hours or even where exactly we would be, but given that I had nothing better to do, off I went.

     And expectations are such a funny thing. Knowing that we were driving out to the countryside somewhere, I brought my book, thinking that I might read on the ride there. Imagine my surprise to discover that we would be riding in the back of a large flat-bed truck, 63 of us, by my count, standing room only. This was one of the famous "Cambodian taxis" I often see on the road, packed to the gills with Khmers swathed in scarves and hats to protect themselves from the sun and the dust. The truck was driven by monks from Wat Damnak, and our convoy included another smaller truck for the rest of the monks to ride in. My fellow passengers included the PAGE girls, a group of children from Wat Damnak's orphanage, a handful of adults, and quite a few other kids and teenagers of unknown origin. Did I mention that there were 63 of us? Thanks to the festival traffic, it took us well over an hour to get out of Siem Reap, a drive that would normally take ten minutes. Outside of town, we continued straight past Angkor Wat, though Angkor Thom temple complex, and into the countryside. The bright green rice fields contrasted with the red dirt road in a way that reminds me of the green and orange of July daylilies at home in Vermont, a combination I've always loved. As the roads got bumpier, we all struggled harder to stay upright, and any change in velocity meant that everyone swayed dangerously forward or backward, threatening to crush the other passengers or knock someone out of the truck completely. There was appropriate shrieking and laughter with each bump and jolt, and kids made a game of reaching out to grab leaves and branches along the tree-lined roads.

Our sweet ride - before we all piled in

They must have paid for first class seating - they could sit down.

Lovely  views along the way

      Two and a half hours later, as dusk fell, we arrived at our destination, the village of Peak Sneng. There in the schoolyard of their junior high school, all was ready for a party.

     I wish I could explain the significance of all that went on, but I am still woefully ignorant, and even when I ask, the explanation is often a bit hard for me to understand, but I can tell you what I saw and what was happening. There were lights strung across the yard with cooking fires, and sacks of rice and enormous mortars and pestles. Throughout the evening, for hours, people roasted the rice a few handfuls at a time, then  pounded it flat. Then it was shaken up in a large flat woven basket to separate the chaff. This dry "flat rice" tastes a bit like popcorn - though the taste would be improved by a little butter and salt - and my understanding is that it's an easy form of rice to carry when cooking opportunities may be limited. (I've also been told the story by a woman I know who as a child, was caring for her baby sister when her family was separated during the Khmer Rouge regime. When she got her hands on some flat rice, she fed it to the starving baby. Unfortunately, not knowing any better, she fed the baby too much and the baby died when the rice swelled in her stomach. She refers to it as "the time I killed my sister.")

     There was live music as well, a band of Khmer musicians playing traditional music on drums and a stringed instrument, which meant there was dancing round and round the schoolyard. Khmers seem to love nothing better than to drag a foreigner into the dancing and watch her practice her Khmer dance moves, so it wasn't long before I was out there with some women who didn't want to take no for an answer. It was the first time I had been to an event where there was plenty of dancing but no beer in sight, which made the leap onto the dance floor a bit more intimidating.

Let there be dancing!

Embarrassing myself for a good laugh

      I split my time between pounding rice, dancing, wishing I had brought more water, and watching the crowd grow as the villagers continued to arrive throughout the evening. I took a few photos, and then the PAGE girls happily took both of my cameras and took hundreds of pictures. Many of the photos are of people I don't know, but they also took an enormous number of monk photos, so my collection has grown without me having to stalk a single monk. In fact, the monks were only too happy to teach me how to pound rice and then compliment my rudimentary efforts. (I did give it plenty of effort, and I have the blister to prove it.) One put it this way, "You very strong, like a man. When the people see you do this, you are very popular, more popular than other people. Also, when you dance - very popular!"  "Popular" and "famous" are words that are often used to describe everyday foreigners here, and while I think I get the gist of their meaning, I assume that they're directly translating a Khmer word that just doesn't translate well.

Looks like a good Facebook profile picture.

I love this guy in his turban and headphones.

     In addition to having my immense popularity pointed out, I was asked frequently if I was happy. I was, and it somehow incrementally increases my happiness every time someone seems to care enough to ask, even when I know it's just a traditional and reflexive greeting. Sometimes, I prefer denial and my own interpretation of things. (Which is actually exactly what some people at work seem to be trying to tell me.... Hmmmmm.)

     By late evening, there were probably 400-500 people there, and I was one of only 3 or 4 white faces in the crowd. This meant that I understood almost nothing that was being said around me for hours, except for catching the word barang ("foreigner") peppered throughout, as people grinned and pointed at me. On several occasions, people came up to speak to me in Khmer, and when I tried to make it clear that I didn't understand a word, they would just speak more slowly and/or loudly, laughing and elbowing their friends. It was an experience I've had so many times that I don't really give it much of a thought any more - we end up with two conversations going on, one in Khmer and one in English, and neither of us understands a word the other says, but there's plenty of smiling and good-natured laughing. My end of the conversation usually sounds something like,. "Sorry, I don't speak Khmer....Yeah, I'm sure you're saying something really interesting, but I'm just an ignorant barang.....Really? That's fascinating, I'm sure...As soon as I have more free time, I promise to resume my study of your language....Yeah, this party is great, isn't it?" This is similar to the conversation I have with our laundry guy every time he stops by to pick up or deliver laundry and sits on the balcony with us for a few minutes.

     The crowd included lots and lots of children, some of whom looked as tired as I felt as the hour got later. I nodded a bit at one point, just sitting on the ground and watching the scene around me. It is so interesting to watch people when you can't understand the words and must rely on a combination of body language and your own imagination. I love watching the teenagers in their same-sex groups watching each other and occasionally flirting in a middle-school sort of way. Boys and girls will hold hands with friends of the same sex, but never touch each other. I got a kick out of the small group of adult men who must have been surreptitiously drinking somewhere in the shadows and then were dancing enthusiastically with each other, occasionally convincing a woman of uncertain character (or a foreigner) to join them. I watched the littlest children nod off in the arms of their mothers or aunts or older sisters, and the older ones run around with apparently boundless energy. I watched the monks, who had probably woken up at 4:00 am and then spent the entire evening pounding rice until their bodies glistened in the heat of the cooking fires, and wondered how tired they must be.

     Close to midnight, with the full moon straight overhead in a cloudless sky, the music and rice pounding wound down and the party moved to another part of the schoolyard. Everyone assembled on mats to listen to the monks pray in their sing-song droning chant. It's something I've heard almost every day here but almost always from a distance, and it was interesting to be in the middle of it, with one of the girls attempting to translate a bit of what was going on. There was a part of the ceremony that involved a row of candles arranged on a horizontal bamboo pole, which was then rotated while the wax dripped onto banana leaves arranged below. This had something to do with predicting (or maybe requesting) rain for the coming year. A bit more praying followed, and then the crowd was served a delicious concoction of flat rice, banana and coconut. There was much merriment as people offered the food to those around them, sometimes even hand-feeding each other directly. A man who had been one of the more enthusiastic dancers offered me a plate of rice and chatted at me in Khmer - the girls explained that he was saying, "We eat together. We are happy together. I have two children and my wife is dead." I have no idea if that's Khmer-style middle-aged flirtation, but I had my suspicions.

     The ride home was less crowded, as we left most of the children behind, and much faster given that there was no traffic in the wee hours of the morning. As we drove back through the temples, the monks in the front seat had to jump out and move barriers from the road, and watching the deserted temples go by in the moonlit night was a rare and wondrous sight.

     By the time we arrived back in Siem Reap, the streets were mostly deserted except for people picking through the tons of garbage that lined the riverside. It was as if we had returned to a different town than one we left in the mid-afternoon. Despite getting home at 2:00 am, exhausted, dirty, windblown and blistered, I wouldn't change a thing.

     What will the coming week bring?