More Saturday morning bike rides

     We have made it a habit to take a bike ride on Saturday mornings. We never leave the house quite as early as we intend to, but usually by 10:00 am we head out, water bottles and cameras in our bike baskets, and make an effort to ride somewhere we haven't been before. It's one of my favorite things to do, and we haven't failed to find new roads to explore. I especially love heading out of town and into the countryside, where the scenery changes from urban to rural in a matter of minutes.

     The photos say more than I can tell you in words.

Typical stilted house - the space underneath is a perfect place to park bicycles and motorbikes,
hang a hammock, wait out a rainstorm, etc.

Tending the rice paddy

I love all these beautiful orderly gardens

I'm not sure what she's harvesting here - maybe morning glory?

Dry rice fields, cows, palm trees...beautiful

High tech equipment

Buffalo - they just like to hang out

I still haven't figured out how they stack the hay like this

More lovely  vegetable plots

"Ting mong" - to protect from bad spirits 

You see these guys less often, but they sure are impressive!

Kids come running to the roadside to wave and shout hello to the foreigners

I love the variety of spirit houses

     And then there are sights like this:

"Do you have any idea what we're doing here?"
"Not a clue. How about you?"

Welcome back!

     Our friend Richard, known around town as "that handsome British doctor," is back in Siem Reap for a few months and staying with us for a while. It was Richard who kept me sane during my months at the clinic, and I'm one of many people here who are glad to have him back in town. We had a welcome back party on Saturday, and as always, our balcony was an excellent place to entertain. I thought I'd share a few photos as a way to introduce some of our friends, old and new. (At this point, "old" friends are those we've known for more than three weeks.)

Ines, Sey, Meg, Jaz, Carol, the guy whose name I always forget, Steve, Pouey

Joellen and Meg

Dr Savoeurn, his brother-in-law, Joe, Sey, Sophea, Pouey

Meg, Steve, Sey, Nemoll

Nemoll, Seb, Richard, Carol. Joe

Chantrea, Phearom

Jake, Carol, Jaz, Sovann

The whole gang

Richard, Meg, Ines

Dr Savouern and Ariel

Joe, Seb, Sey

Carol, Jake, Eli

Gaining momentum

     Every morning this week, I've made a list of things to do that day. And every day, I've completed every item except one, which then gets moved to the following day's list. The same item every day - "blog" - has been shuffled from Monday to Tuesday to Wednesday and now to Thursday's list, though I can almost guarantee that I won't end up writing a "real" blog entry today based on time limitations. [True enough - I worked on this on Thursday but did not finish it until Friday.]

     The good news is that I now have some minor time limitations - I'm getting busier again. After that first December week of basking in the joy of unemployment, then another week in which the glow wore off but I savored the rare experience of doing nothing, I descended into a pit of inertia and ennui that lasted far too long. A couple of weeks ago, I gave myself a kick in the ass and got off the hammock long enough to start really thinking about what I should do - which coincided nicely with some opportunities that presented themselves, as opportunities often do when we're ready for them. So more details to follow another time, but it looks like I have a couple of nicely part-time "jobs" that will provide me with much better balance between inertia and frenetic momentum.

     In the meantime, I've been playing around with my new camera, trying to remember that the things I see every day are not the same things that you see every day, and hoping to capture some interesting shots.

A bike ride outside of town provides new sights and sounds

    I have missed a number of amusing photos this week, mostly shots of people carrying seemingly impossible things on motorbikes. (Meaning it would seem impossible to carry such things, not impossible that such things exist.) Imagine the typical Cambodian motorbike, a 100 or 125 cc Honda scooter. You may have seen my shot of seven people on one moto, and long ago in a previous blog I posted my best shots of live pigs and chickens and eggs on motos, so I shouldn't really be surprised any more by what can be transported on one. But there are still occasional surprises.

     In one example, I saw two men, one driving and the other sitting behind him. Between them was a huge sheet of plate glass standing upright and extending several feet from side to side, like a huge glass sandwich spilling out of its two slices of man-shaped bread. The man in back had the job of holding the edges of the glass, which required his arms to be fully outstretched. I can't imagine the aerodynamics that were involved - the glass must have acted as a giant sail trying to push them off in one direction or another, but they forged ahead without any obvious struggle.

[This is where I would put the moto pictures if I had been able to take them.]

     The second unusual load I saw was a washing machine. Again, there were two men on the bike, but in this case, the man on the back was straddling the seat facing backwards, which gave him enough room to hold onto a not-quite-full-size washing machine which was on his lap. The washing machine was not secured in any other way other then the guy's fingers wrapped around two opposite corners and most of it hung in midair off the back of the seat. He looked completely unconcerned, and they were moving so fast that I had no time to pull out my camera.

     (You know, I'm pretty proud of myself when I can go out on my bicycle and come home with a case of beer, a 6-pack of water, some fruit from the market in my front basket, and two grocery nags hanging off the handlebars. [Yes, that is correct: we buy beer by the case and water by the 6-pack.] But clearly I have a long way to go before anyone here will be impressed with my skills.)

     Wednesday evening I went to some kind of party that I didn't really understand but greatly enjoyed. Here's what I did understand about it: There was an annual gathering of kru chol rup (spirit mediums who act as faith healers) from many different provinces held at the home of a high-level kru about a half-hour outside of Siem Reap. What they all did all day is a mystery, but I'm told it involved preaching and praying and monks and eating. By the time we arrived at about 8:00, it was a full-on party. There was a traditional Khmer band, a number of huge Peavey speakers (the "wall of sound" that causes all your internal organs to vibrate if you stand too close), a pink and gold tent, many tables and chairs, some open fires, people dancing, and the whole village watching. The dancers were the healers themselves, from what I could gather, mostly women and a very few men, as is common with this type of traditional role. The costumes they wore were an interesting mix. Some wore bright silk costumes with sequins and braid and conical hats, resembling apsara dancers, and others wore Army fatigues and police uniforms. I was told that the Army and police uniforms were to show support for the country and the troops at the border. They danced enthusiastically to traditional Khmer music, and then Khmer pop music, and even the Macarena. (Will the Macarena ever die? I think not...)

     Over the course of the evening, I took many very bad photos (due to bad lighting and the Khmer habit of dancing in a tight circle) but I needn't have worried about being intrusive with the camera, as the woman in charge came over to thank me for taking photos. (She won't thank me when she sees how poorly they turned out.) I was complimented on my nose, which has happened occasionally in the past. Western noses are apparently considered quite attractive by some people, which I don't really understand. I watched lots of small children fall asleep in chairs or on laps as the evening got later and later. I had many one-sided conversations with Khmers who spoke no English, during which they said all kinds of mysterious and completely incomprehensible things to me, as usual, and I smiled in return, as usual. And I danced, reluctantly at first given that I had no alcohol in my system, but the older Khmer woman and younger Khmer man who kept dragging me to my feet really weren't taking no for an answer. So away from the main dance floor, we danced around a table, and eventually a crowd gathered to watch and cheer on the crazy barang lady, and then to join in themselves. Just to be clear, I really tried to spare Jaz the embarrassment of having to witness this scene, and I didn't truly give in and join with gusto until she had wandered off. They tried but couldn't convince her to give it a whirl.

(Note my complete lack of grace.)

Our audience begins to form...

Jasmine's "No, thank you, I don't want to dance" face.

     If there's a name for this kind of gathering, I don't know what it is. According to one source, it happens once a year in January during the full moon. How many other foreigners have been lucky enough to attend such a gathering is anyone's guess - our good fortune last night was thanks to Sovann, as is so often the case when we get to do interesting off-the-beaten-track kinds of things here. Both his mother and sister were participants, and that's how we wrangled an invitation.

Sleepy children

These women know how to get down!

 

I was told she is 13 or 14, and she's also a medium
(though she looks kinda small to me)

     So as usual, never a dull moment here. I'm still trying to learn the Khmer alphabet and it's still a slow and painful process, but tiny little epiphanies along the way encourage me to continue. We have a relatively busy social life with dinner dates here and there around town throughout the week. People come and go - our friend Richard (the British doc who worked with me at the clinic last fall) arrives back in Siem Reap this week and will stay with us for a while, but our friends Andras and Eszter will be leaving in a few weeks to go back to Hungary. We will really miss those two. Steve has found a nice balance of working mornings at the kindergarten at New Hope and afternoons at the children's hospital, Jaz teaches in the afternoon and tutors a few evenings a week. We've had a spell of cool weather with morning temperatures just below 70 degrees (brrrr!) and my sunflowers and zinnias are blooming, though my tomato plants got off to a great start but then flowered and died for unknown reasons. Oh well, you can't win 'em all.

Birdsong

     Last summer, when I had a few glorious weeks at home to finish sorting and packing, I took time almost every day to sit on the purple Adirondack chair that my brother made for me and soak in the sights and sounds of Vermont summer. I realized how much I loved the birdsong that I heard every day, how it changed from morning to afternoon to evening, and how it changed over the course of June and July and August. I would close my eyes and listen, thinking how much I would miss it.

      I couldn't remember ever hearing birds on any previous trip to Cambodia. Perhaps it was because on all our previous stays we were in a guest house on a busy road, surrounded by more buildings and traffic than trees. But here at our house, just blocks away, we have a yard full of fruit trees and the houses are further apart and the road is really just a dirt lane with very little traffic. And the birds are here. And they sing. And it changes from morning to afternoon to evening...

     I don't know the name of these birds; I have no Peterson's Field Guide to Southeast Asian Birds where I can look them up. There are small sparrow-like birds who swoop around in the morning, landing on the railing and picking up bugs and crumbs off the tiles on the balcony if I haven't swept well enough. They come in twos or threes, and they chirp in a generic though pleasant sort of way. There are some larger birds, perhaps the size of robins though more slender, with high-contrast yellow markings on their faces and white wing tips, and they sit in the fruit trees and call in a loud, complex melody. (I think these are Common Mynas though Sovann doesn't think so.) They're loud enough to wake me from a nap in the hammock in the afternoon. And in the evening, I hear large groups of some kind of unseen bird gathering in the trees further behind our house, all tweeting and chirping and chattering among themselves as they presumably settle in for the night.

     The bird song is occasionally punctuated by the call of small salamander-sized geckos who make a small "chirp chirp chirp" sound from the ceiling, or the even less frequent deep call of the larger geckos who call out, "To-Kay.....To-Kay....To-Kay..." from somewhere in the yard. And after the sun sets and the light is almost completely gone (which happens about 6:15 pm) I can see hundreds of giant fruit bats flying over the house on their way to wherever they go every night, and I sometimes imagine I can hear them making noise as well, though I'm not completely sure.

     I wish I had a good recording device so I could share the sound with you. Or better yet, I wish you would come and visit and listen with me.

Maybe I need this.

What an interesting year it's been

Greetings, friends and family ~

     Despite my desire to write you interesting accounts of our daily lives here in the developing world, I seem to be experiencing Blogger's Block. It may be because of the usual ebb and flow of my urge to write, or it may be because the novelty of everyday life has worn off and I can't imagine that there's anything interesting enough to write about. After all, I can ride my bicycle past a dozen monks on the street and hardly even notice - they're just part of the background scenery of my life now. And let's not forget that I'm spending far too much time in the hammock reading and napping, and there's not much to say about that that would be interesting to read. Clearly, I need to get off the hammock and get busy, which I will be working on....next week. (Didn't I say that three weeks ago?)

     Here it is, December 31, and so I find myself thinking back a bit to what an unusual year it's been. Being here was a project that was years in the making really, but most of the obvious activity that made it happen took place in the last 12 months. The first half of 2010 was spent winding down at work and speeding up the process of sorting out a lifetime of accumulated stuff. July and August provided an amazing stretch of time at home to savor one last Vermont summer while enjoying the delicious anticipation of finally getting on the plane that would bring us here. And the past four months have been a roller coaster of adjustment, adaptation, and recalibration. I've learned things I didn't expect, unlearned things that I thought I knew, and relearned things I had forgotten. I've struggled with expectations, culture, and perspective. I've been privileged enough to be invited to people's home and weddings and social circles. I've met people who have a different world view than mine and discovered what we have in common. I've felt like jumping for joy and like banging my head against a wall. I've laughed more and cried more than I have since I was a little kid.

     I miss people from home in ways I didn't expect, and I don't miss some things that I thought I would. I have found that the experience of living here is so different from visiting here, and that being here is harder than I expected in some ways and easier in others. I think I can say that I've experienced a certain degree of culture shock, though it's more about the shock of understanding myself and my own individual culture in new ways. At times it is exhausting and at times it's exhilarating.

     Tonight we will join up with some new friends to party away the old year and celebrate the new one. Who knows what 2011 will bring, but if I could have one wish, it would be for just a little bit more equilibrium. And perhaps the ability to write about something other than myself...

     I wish all of you a safe and satisfying New Year. Thank you all for the various kinds of support and encouragement you've all provided as we began this grand adventure, and we so look forward to seeing many of you in May!!!

Some of the crowd at our house on Christmas Day -
American, Canadian, Khmer, Belgian, Filipino, Dutch, and Hungarian.
(Check out our friend Andras in the famous Mojica-Whitney Christmas vest!)

    

Just when life threatened to get dull...

     I'm feeling nostalgic for yesterday's post about life being slow and uneventful. Sometimes things get exciting in ways you'd rather they wouldn't.

     To dispense with all foreshadowing and suspense, we were robbed last night. While we slept, someone came into the house and took all three laptops, four cameras, my wallet, my ATM card, and a pile of cash I had just withdrawn from the ATM yesterday.

     To be clear, it was completely my fault. Despite frequent reminders from Steve and all our Khmer friends, I didn't lock the door when I went to bed. I could tell you why it's so hard to remember to do so after 48 years of never locking my house, but sometimes I just plain don't bother because I like to believe that nothing bad will ever happen to me. So I didn't lock it. And at 6:15 this morning, in a 90-second period we went from confusion ("Where did I leave my laptop...?") to the sinking realization that many things were missing, and I understood what everyone has warned me about.

     I wondered if we were targeted because we are foreigners, and was somehow consoled by the fact that they had also tried to break into the landlord's ground-floor living quarters. In fact, they cut a screen downstairs and reached in through the security bars to grab a bag from a bedroom, but ditched the bag when it didn't contain anything of value. Then they stole the mosquito racquet off the landlord's front porch so they could use the light on the racquet to see while they came upstairs and helped themselves to our valuables. (We know this because they left the racquet behind in our living room, further confusing us in the morning until we unravelled the whole story.) We all slept through the whole thing.

     They did leave some things behind in the corner of the yard: my purse, emptied of the wallet but still containing bug spray and my Epi-Pen; Steve's bag, minus his cash but still containing his glasses and some other items; and a water bottle that they must mistaken for something of value because it was in a neoprene case. Sovann and Steve gathered up all the detritus in a pile in the driveway, and then the debate about whether to call the police began.

     The general feeling was that the police would just cause a lot of bother and nuisance without being any help, but in the end, our friend Chamnan called them and the police came. Over the course of the next three hours, a total of nine different police officers arrived to hear the tale over and over and to take photos of all the places where our belongings had once been. (A photo of the empty desk is helpful in what way...?) They drew crude sketches of the neighborhood and of the layout of our house, filled out many forms that required my thumbprint and signature, asked for multiple copies of our passports and visas, and smoked many cigarettes. Sovann patiently told the story over and over again for them, and they each clucked in disapproval when they heard that the door had not been locked. They asked for lists of what was stolen, they asked how long we lived here, they asked Jaz why she and Sovann weren't married yet, and they asked to be told yet again where each item had been before it was stolen. As the hours ticked away, I was thankful that there was little risk of my ATM card actually being used here, but wondered how long it would take to get a new one after I reported it stolen. Several times, I thought about taking photos of all the serious-looking officials on the balcony doing their very serious police work, and then I remembered that I had no camera. I emptied the ashtray and offered water and chuckled when I heard that they (like everyone else) had asked how much we pay for rent.

     The most helpful reactions I got were these:

• Chamnan, who is tall enough that my head rests in the crook of his shoulder, just hugged me and patted my back for a long time, which made me cry like a baby
• Sovann went out after the police left and bought a case of beer with the helpful advice, "You should drink it all today, Mum!"
• Jaz stayed calm and matter-of-fact, reminding me that getting too upset about all of this was kind of like complaining that my "diamond shoes are too tight, and my wallet won't hold all my hundred-dollar bills!" In other words, we are still so much more fortunate than so many. We were lucky enough to have all those things that were stolen, and we're lucky enough to be able to replace them. She also reminded me that all the 57 things that I just posted about being thankful for are things I probably still have. Gotta love that girl.

     So damn it - my fucking diamond shoes are too tight! And my wallet is too --- oh, wait a minute, my wallet is history. (I did love that wallet.) But here I am, in Cambodia, living the good life. Could be worse.

     (Sorry. No photos again for this post, for obvious reasons.)

Seven days, zero posts; now you'll see why

     Inertia is a powerful force. If I don't have to get up and go somewhere and do something, it is astounding how little I can do in a day. Week One of unemployment was delightful; Week Two started to feel a little unsettling. What do people do when they retire???? Oh yeah - they volunteer a lot...

Here is how I spent a typical day last week:

6:30 wake up, make coffee, sweep
6:45 fire up the laptop, check email, look at Facebook to see what everyone back home was up to while I was sleeping;  follow various links covering topics from pop psychology to Bernie's filibuster to snowstorms in Vermont to anything else you can imagine
9:00 realize I've just spent more than two hours accomplishing nothing; wonder how my life would be different without internet (cue foreshadowing music...)
9:15 shower, wash some clothes, wash some dishes, wander the house and think about taking out the trash; wonder where the trash goes after it's picked up
10:00 decide to make a list of things I should accomplish; get sidetracked by notification of incoming email
11:00 examine seedlings I've planted in pots, water them; wonder why nasturtiums take forever to germinate; fantasize about sunflowers and tomatoes and wish I had room to grow beets; wonder why there are no beets in Cambodia; think about root vegetables in general
11:30 greet Steve when he comes home from school; have lunch; discuss Steve's tennis plans for the upcoming week; think about how I should get out for more early morning bike rides
12:00 arrange myself in the hammock with a book, a cold drink, and my Khmer homework
12:45 doze off
1:10 wake up and curse the mosquito who won't leave me alone; wave the electric mosquito racket around until I hear the satisfying *snap* of a direct hit; think about how un-Buddhist I am
1:30 say good bye to Jaz as she goes off to work
1:35 feel guilty for not working; replenish cold drink
1:37 doze off again
2:30 wake up again and stare into space admiring the mango tree while sipping now-warm drink
2:40 vow to get up and "accomplish something"
2:50 wander the house looking for something I can't identify; try to remember what I used to say I would do "if I only had enough free time;" think about sewing a quilt out of kramas; think about taking up watercolors
3:00 back to the hammock with my book
4:15 respond to phone call or text message from someone who wants to know "What are you doing right now?" Make something up to sound more productive than I really am; make plans to get together sometime in the next few days.
4:25 check to see if laundry is dry
4:35 welcome Jaz home from work; offer to bring Steve a beer in his hammock; feel thankful for hammocks, and for beer, and for Steve
4:45 wander the house again, sweep a little, wonder how to convince the housekeeper to stop rearranging the furniture when she comes; chuckle to myself about how we bought an "island" for the kitchen and she decided it should be a peninsula instead. Imagine her internal dialog: "Why is this piece of furniture in the middle of the kitchen? What's wrong with these crazy people? I'll show them how it looks so much better pushed up against the wall."
5:00 think about expectations and culture and perspective while I admire the mango tree again
5:07 wonder when mango season begins

5:15 make half-hearted offer to help Steve make dinner; remember that we already have dinner plans with friends at 6:30

5:20 check email again
5:45 greet Sovann as he comes home from work or whatever else he's been doing all day; feel bad when he asks what I did today and I have to say, "nothing." Ask about his day and vow yet again to write a blog entry someday about the life of a tuktuk driver
6:00 promise myself to get busy soon; wonder what retired people do all day; read another chapter of my book; feel thankful for my coworkers who bought me a Nook e-reader and a lot of gift cards
6:15 get ready for dinner; realize as we ride out of the yard on our bikes that I haven't left the house all day and remember how much I love riding my bike around town
6:30 have dinner with someone somewhere
8:45 come home and check email/facebook
9:00 upload photos, read more nonsense online, write pointless blog entry outlining the complete lack of excitement in my life this week, think about Dylan and Alanna's wedding in May and search for airfares
10:30 brush my teeth; go to bed to read
10:39 fall asleep

     That sums up a typical day this week. There were days that we took long bike rides or I went to print photos or buy some fruit or pay the internet bill, but mostly I did nothing as described above. It was fun for a week and now I am reminded that a perfect day for me involves doing some kind of work in the morning and then feeling justified in doing nothing in the afternoon. Time to get busy.

     And now you know why I haven't written anything all week. Aren't you glad I spared you the daily details of my ridiculously uneventful life?