A girl named Steve

Below, a few photos from last weekend in Sihanoukville, a popular beach town about 4 hours outside Phnom Penh. Two relaxing days, which included lots of cheap eats on the beach, a visit to "The Snake Pit", 872 humorous interactions with kid vendors on the beach (who insisted I was English), pineapple-coconut shakes, perhaps the biggest lunar halo I've ever seen, and fun times with new Cambodian friends.



Happy Hour, indeed.


25c draft beer AND Free Thank You!


Fresh squid on a stick.


Where you from? England? Canada? Sweeden? NZ? Wales? That's right, 10 year-old Cambodian beach kids guess Wales before America when they see a white foreigner. Maybe all is right in the world after all.



Candlelight dinner party of 10, just meters from the breaking surf. A fabulous feast of food (curries, soups, amok, grilled seafood platters, coconut prawns, etc.), total bill $36. Steve is third from the right.

???

Her hand rests ever so gently on my knee. There is a voice too, not much more audible than a whisper. At first, I try to ignore it, for I know she can only want one thing. Money.

Nearly everywhere a foreigner might go in Phnom Penh, there are children, elderly, handicapped people, and landmine victims asking for money. They are soft-spoken and gentle, but they are always there, holding out hands. There are arguments for and against giving them money, and I've yet to decide on which side of the fence I sit. Presently, I am seated in a tuk-tuk, waiting for the friendly driver Thou (pronounced "Too"), to return from the bus ticket window with my ticket. I am amazed how much people will do for you for the slightest of profit. For about about $1.50 more than the ticket, Thou kindly arranged the booking, picked me up, and delivered me to the bus station.

The hand gives my knee a slight squeeze. I turn to face the older woman. Her eyes capture mine immediately; they are black and cloudy, the pupil not discernible from the iris. She whispers pleadingly "nyam, nyam", one of the few Khmer words I know. "Eat, eat". At the moment, I think I have never seen a face so full of despair. I know I've never known the pain and suffering this woman has, and for the briefest of moments, I wonder how I could bring a smile to this poor woman's face. However, Thou returns, and I am ripped from this thought, distracted by tickets and and my bag and trying to pay Thou with a combination of dollar and riel bills. He shakes my hand with a big smiley "Aukun" (thank you) and points me over to the bus.
In minutes I am seated and reading, poor woman forgotten for the moment. But shortly, staring at the pages of my book, I see her nebulous eyes again, and they cause me to question my own humanity. How could I, privileged as I've been, not bear to part with even the 12 cents this woman wanted for a bit of rice? It doesn't help that I am reading about Paul Farmer, perhaps one of the most dedicated, compassionate people on earth. My guilt lasts until I arrive at the beach in Sihanoukville, where I give away a few thousand riel to the first beggars who approach me, and still don't feel better.

K'nyom mok bpi srok Amerik.

Before I came to Cambodia, I was told that the Khmer language, not being tonal like the other SE Asian languages, was fairly easy to pronounce. That's a big, fat lie. Its easy to pronounce the same way its easy to understand Superstring theory. In place of tones, there are umpteen vowels (more than 30 I am told), which my dictionary correctly states are "notoriously difficult to romanize", along with consonants that are aspirated and non-aspirated (whatever that may mean) or even swallowed, and a host of words with impossible 1- syllable sounds like "ngup" "bpram" "dtou" "ch'ngañ" and "tlay". Go ahead, give em a try, especially "ngup".

Despite the sound barriers, I have jumped right into Khmer lessons and am busy chopping the language to bits. Once a week I have a lesson with a couple other PEPY interns. Our teacher Rany, a young woman of about 25, is very kind, but proceeds at a furious pace. The method goes something like this: Rany introduces a new phrase, I try in vain to reproduce the sound, so she says it 3 more times, I write some letters that might or might not come close to representing the words, then say it again, she compliments my pronunciation though obviously wrong, and finally she says it the correct way again. Proceed to next phrase.

I also found another tutor, Sokkhy, who has agreed to give me an additional 2 lessons per week. I've made a bit more progress with her because the lessons are one-on-one. Also, she is a bit more honest about my horrendous pronunciation, and doesn't let me move on until I've come reasonably close. The content of our lessons has been quite varied so far. I've learned some basics like my name, age, and marital status of course, but also some rather useless things like "One kilo of rambutans costs 2000 riels." and "I would like to buy a man sarong for wearing." However, Sokkhy is incredibly patient and today I learned some more helpful phrases such as "I'm sorry", "I like banana", and "I want to eat amok." (In this case, amok being a traditional Khmer food rather than a mad murderous frenzy).

On the flip, the grammar and structure of the language is straightforward and not so different from English. Perhaps the most brilliant feature is that the verbs have no tense whatsoever. I ate, I eat, and I will eat are all the same: K'nyom nyam. I am fairly sure there is no conjugation either, though the verbs may change with respect to whom you are talking. For example, there are completely different verbs for "to eat", depending on if you are talking to a child, someone of the same social status, an elder, or the king. In fact, yesterday I was told there are no less than 8 words for "to eat".

Seriously though, even as I struggle with the pronunciation, I am enjoying learning a completely new tongue. We have a couple Cambodia staff who are encouraging my efforts--always asking what I learned in the most recent lesson. They got a huge kick out of my "I would like to buy a man sarong" expression and offered to take me to the market. So, I have no idea how far I will get with the language, but it will most certainly be a fun and humorous process.

Traffic

Phnom Penh is a wonderful city to bike in, once you've acquired the courage to do so. I equate it to playing Frogger, except you're actually IN the computer. At first glance, the constant streams of traffic are overwhelming, one wonders how the carstrucksSUVsbikesmotorbikesbusescyclospedestriansandvendorcarts all manage to merge together without accident. While the biggest of intersections have traffic lights, the majority do not. There seems to be a universally understood rule, which so internally diametric, it boggles the mind with impossibility. The Rule is: Everybody goes, Everybody yields. All the time. At one intersection, I simply observed for several minutes as all the vehicles coalesced into a single mass of motion.

When at an intersection and turning left (they drive on the right here), one turns into the LEFT lane, directly into oncoming traffic, and proceeds to weave between the approaching and passing carstrucksSUVsbikesmotorbikesbusescyclospedestriansandvendorcarts until you have the opportunity to drift right into the proper lane of traffic. Preposterous that this is standard practice, but nonetheless its how its done. Once in the right lane, the first instinct is to relax a bit, but this is a mistake, for you now have to watch out for all the vehicles coming from the side streets and now turning left into YOUR lane. YIKES! You must constantly be alert and look out for the next cartruckSUVbikemotorbikebuscyclopedestrianorvendorcart or you will most certainly get knocked off.

There is an order to the chaos however, and the system works smoothly. Luckily, very few people drive fast, and everybody follows The Rule.

Third World?

Just as I remember Vietnam, the streets here are vibrant and flush with life and activity. The dilapidated sidewalks are filled with parked motorbikes, kids playing, men seated playing cards or some kind of chess, debris, and little shops overflowing their doors, making it often easier to just walk in the street. Monks in orange robes carrying yellow umbrellas and silver urns (containing alms?) walk about barefoot. Motorbikes and tuk tuks (a taxi of sorts, a modified motorbike with covered passenger cart fixed to the back) are everywhere, greatly outnumbering the cars, though there are a shocking number of Lexus SUVs and Toyota Land Cruisers as well. The contrast between poverty and wealth is striking.

Yesterday I had a rather unexpected posh "expat" day, it felt almost like a few pages of a Graham Greene novel. After a lazy morning at Chez PEPY, Maryann, Shannon and I rode our bikes over to the "VIP" sports club for a swim in the beautiful pool there. A vicious rainstorm forced us from the water to the covered patio where we attempted to wait out the storm with passion fruit smoothies. After about an hour we abandoned the wait and decided to pedal home in the rain, which Shannon rightly said, was even more refreshing than the swim itself. During the ride home, as I pedaled through the rivulets and small lakes of rainwater , waved to kids playing soccer on the sidewalk, and manuevered through the traffic (more on this in another post), I had my first "Yep, I've arrived in Cambodia" moment.

In the evening, we had a bit of a celebration, partly for me and the other newly arrived intern, and partly for the birthday of Tim, who has been with PEPY for several months. Six of us went out for dinner at a swanky Lebanese restaurant, and then joined a collection of expats for a riverboat cruise on the Mekong. While on the boatdeck, staring at the nightlights of Phnom Penh across the water, talking to a young French woman and an Aussie who work for the Khmer Rouge Tribunal (the body attempting to bring the war criminals to justice) I had my second "arrival" moment. I had no idea there was such an expat "scene" here, but with 1000+ (or so I'm told) aid organizations working here, money coming from many directions, and a stream of backpackers passing through, I suppose its only natural. After the cruise, drinks and dancing followed at the Pontoon club, a large boat docked on the riverside and apparently, a favorite spot among the expat crowd.

It was a fun night indeed, and I certainly met an array of interesting folks, but it seemed like it would be easy to get caught up in the scene, which would likely mute the Cambodian cultural experience. However, the PEPY folks are a solid, motivated, and bright group and I've no doubt that once I am working and making connections, I'll discover the cultural avenues that enrich and actuate my life.

Cambodia is the New Japan

Welcome all, I am back in the river, swimming again with the fishes, and blogging from my new post in Cambodia. I left North Carolina last Saturday, and after several brilliant days in Southern California, and a long, smooth journey across the pacific, I finally arrived in Phnom Penh on Thursday morning. A kind Cambodian staffer named Vuthy from PEPY, the organization I'll be working for, met me at the airport with an easy smile and wisked me through Immigration. Outside the airport waited Maryann, the interim director, and a man named Lucky, tuk tuk driver and friend of PEPY who likes to hang out at the office when not busy carting folks about the city.

A short drive through the positively lively, dirty, sultry, cacophonous and pungent streets of Phnom Penh, delivered us to Chez PEPY, my home and office for the next six months. The large, three story house sits solidly, built with 8-inch thick concrete walls, just a few narrow streets away from the city center and main thoroughfares. Inside the tall metal gate is a tiled courtyard, filled with bikes and bamboo. An array of shoes lies outside the front door, for, as in Japan, they are not worn inside the home. Just inside the front door is the PEPY office. The three other interns, all who live at the house, as well as another Cambodian staff member greeted me warmly, though obviously busy and focused on their work.

Maryann gave me the tour of the house, and offered me a room on the 2nd floor where everyone else has their bedrooms, or the sole bedroom on the 3rd floor (which I have dubbed the Penthouse), which has its own bathroom, living room, and terrace. I, as you might expect, took the latter. Though I won't declare myself King of the Castle just yet, for the moment I have the Penthouse to myself, though another intern arrives today and may wish to take up residence there as well. We have a maid who cleans meticulously six days a week and does our laundry as well. Also, for the first time in my life, I have wireless internet, though it can be spotty at times.

I spent most of the first two days in the office, asking questions and trying to get caught up on all that PEPY is doing and trying to accomplish. I'll be writing much about this in posts to come, but I'll wait until I've got a solid grasp on everything. For now, know that I am well, happily adjusting to the tropics again, and eager to start contributing to this inspiring organization.

More on my first impressions in days to come...