The fish are still swimming...

...but they have migrated upstream to mouthful.tumblr.com.

This is my final post here. I do not plan to delete this blog, but all new content will be posted to mouthful. I hope you will find me there...

All old content and a collection of my writing can be found @ mrwoodard.wordpress.com

East>West

I've been neglecting my blog these past couple of weeks--not sure if I was too lazy or had nothing to say, maybe both. My time in Cambodia is now flying by and unbelievably, I have just under a month left before starting my next adventure. My return to PEPY has been what I expected (same great people) and hasn't been (lots of office work rather than trip leading). Nonetheless, I am extremely happy with my decision to come back for four months, as its been rewarding to again be a part of an inspiring organization, and I have certainly learned a little more about Cambodia and Khmer culture.

On March 14, I'll fly to Honolulu to visit Aki, a good friend from Japan whom I haven't seen since I left. It will be my first time to Hawaii, and we have plenty of plans for sun and beach and biking and hiking volcanoes and maybe kite-surfing and eating too much and rehashing good times from Japan. 本当なつかしい！

Ten days later I will fly to Panama, my first return since I finished my Peace Corps service in December 2004. I'll have about a week to see old host families and friends and check out a friend's (and former PC vollie) Planting Empowerment project before busing up to Quepos in Costa Rica to meet my dad and his Rotary Club for a week-long project there. Afterward, I will return to Panama for a few more weeks to visit my site El Satro in the Veraguas mountains and enjoy everything Panamanian I have missed these past four years (patacones, tipico music, salomas, campo Spanish, conversations with strangers, etc.).

I will return to NC in late April for at least a month to spend some time with the family and enjoy Appalachian Spring. In June, I will return to Backroads for another summer of tripleading and campcheffing, though I don't know yet what region I will work.

Feels good to have a plan...

Vignette #7: The FCC Angkor

The Foreign Correspondents Club is full of foreigners and empty of correspondents, as always. No hobnobbing journalists expounding on the days events, no reporters revising their stories, no photographers discussing recent shots. In fact, the only person doing any correspondence at all is a young woman writing in a spiral notebook at a candlelit table on the veranda, and even she seems more interested in her glass of white wine than her journal. It’s 5:30, Happy Hour a quarter-finished, and the wait staff have just turned on the soft-yellow wall lamps. The wooden-louver doors of the second-floor lounge are open on both sides, allowing the gentle evening breeze to filter in, joining the ceiling fans in swirling the lively conversation and cigarette smoke about the room. From the veranda, one can see the river and the tangle of Christmas lights in the riverside trees, hung rather haphazardly and left over from the water festival several months ago. They are tacky and beautiful at the same time, fitting perhaps in this town, struggling to modernize and exhibit its rich, ancient history simultaneously.

Vignette #6: The Widow Waitress

Lina likes to sit with me at lunch, and tell me fragments of her life. She’s one of the waitresses at the café, but it’s difficult to think of her as such. She’s too forward, too amiable, too chummy. When I arrive, she without fail plops down in the opposite chair to chat and teach me Khmer. Like most Cambodians, she looks younger than her years, and yet, like all those who survived Khmer Rouge, has a melancholy in her eyes that makes her age seem irrelevant. Her bright face does a courageous job of camouflaging the somberness, but it’s always there, lurking in the back of her dark pupils, like black diamonds set in a gold engagement ring.

The first time I shared a table with Lina, or rather, Lina shared a table with me, she told me about her lesbian Japanese friend, whose sexual orientation she neither agreed with nor understood. But, as Lina reassured me, “Ot panyiha”—it wasn’t really an issue. She spoke fondly of the woman, and was clearly sad her foreign friend had returned to Japan. It occurred to me that Lina too might be gay, and this was her way of telling me without really telling me. My dinner arrives.

The second time I met Lina, she told me about her dead husband and one of her dead brothers, mentioning them casually, like two perished houseplants. Her spouse died in a motorbike accident, struck by a hit-and-run SUV, the driver of which she claimed to be a government minister who offered no apology and suffered no consequences. The brother died at the hands of his own wife’s jealous lover, who drowned him in a basin of boiling water after a merciless drunken beating. He too, escaped punishment. Another waitress brings out my lunch, and Lina disappears to the back.

On the third occasion, Lina tells me about her 11-year old son, who likes school and learns English at the Christian church they attend on Sundays. She pronounces Jesus “Jay-soo” and finds it peculiar I claim not to be Christian, or Buddhist, or Jewish, but does not press for an explanation. I want to ask the name of her church, but do not know the word for church in Khmer. I resort to calling it “p’tea Jay-soo, pagoda robhas Jay-soo”. The house of Jesus, Jesus’ pagoda. She understands, but cannot remember the name of the church. This time she watches me eat, and smiles when I look up from the plate.

The fourth time we meet, she recounts her experience as a refugee in Thailand. She was six when the Vietnamese overthrew Pol Pot. With her father dead, her mother dead, a sibling and cousins dead, she was taken to a camp just across the border to live with her mother’s sister. Four years later, Lina and her remaining siblings returned to Cambodia, where they grew up with another uncle. The aunt moved to Long Beach, married another refugee, and had two daughters who are now both medical students. Lina mentions the daughters suggestively, as if I might be a suitor, and then just as quickly, dismisses the idea silently, refilling my glass of iced jasmine tea, and asking me about work.

And so I come to know Lina, glimpses of her life like shards of glass on the sidewalk, inviting me to peer inside the broken window. Our limited skills with each other’s language force us to speak simply and directly. The blend of Khmer and English entertains us both, as we find indirect paths to communicating when we cannot find the words, and the inevitable misunderstandings bother us not in the slightest. Mostly she talks, and I listen, failing to understand the source of the sudden bond we’ve formed, and not caring to understand.

Vignette #5: 数学の先生 (The Math Teacher)

On an early spring day in a rural town in northern Japan, before the cherry blossom excitement had started, a young man stared out the window at the passing cars. Or at least, pretended to stare at them. His blue eyes, the only pair in the room, could not help but fall repeatedly on the young math teacher sitting directly opposite his desk. The young woman went about her work, stamping and writing and erasing and shuffling, oblivious to the young man’s gazes. He let his stares fall longer, until he was no longer even glimpsing out the window. Her pale face was delicate without being doll-like, and glowed with warmth. She had a rather weak chin, which he did not care for, but it wasn't noticeable when she was talking or smiling. She seemed self-conscious of the feature, and oft held her mouth pursed just slightly, as if about to speak. Shoulder length strands of hair fell over her face, in the way that Japanese hair does, and she continued to work without brushing it aside. Yet it was the math teacher’s eyes that drew the man’s attention. He quietly hoped she would look up suddenly to catch him, and at the same time, he did not want to interrupt her work. A sudden bustle in the office caused him to look away. A group of students entered the faculty room and went about their daily, obligatory janitor duty. Briefly the young man felt guilty, first for his lazy lapse, and then for staring, before remembering he had little to do. Peering out the window again, he noticed the snow was blowing by faster than the cars, and the cold rays of sunlight piercing the blustery storm.

Vignette #4: The Nudist

Just after crossing the river on Hawthorne, on his way to Powell’s to look for a present, Jack is suddenly drawn to the grassy expanse adjacent to the river’s boardwalk. Awash with noon sunlight, the river’s edge is busy with joggers, bikers, and dog walkers, enjoying what is surely one of the last days of summer. He finds a spot on the grass with a good view of the river and sits down to read Nick Adams while he people watches. Exactly two pages into Summer People, Jack looks up to see a naked woman on roller-skates cruising gracefully down the boardwalk. Save her bright white skates with red wheels, she has not a stitch of clothing. She seems oblivious to the hundreds of eyes fixed on her lovely figure. Yet, as she passes a pair of young men on a park bench, the coffee-skinned young woman bends forward, stretching her arms in front, lifting her right leg behind, and twisting slightly so as to reveal her naked pelvis to the seated, dumbfounded men. Jack, transfixed as the rest, watches as she coasts past and then finds her pace again, powerfully pushing past those in her path. Jack ponders the peculiarity of the moment briefly, before returning to his story.

Vignette #3: The Uncle

Nearing the restaurant, Puu recognizes me from fifty meters, waving gently and beaming. I wave back. I see him tell his employees, all nieces and nephews, to ready a table for me. He greets me on the patio, a concrete slab with half a dozen metal tables and red plastic chairs.

“Puu sok sabai tei?” I ask him. Are you well, uncle?
“Ba, sok sabai,” he replies, grinning. He likes it when I call him uncle.
“Sok sabai sai sabok,” says a nearby nephew. The three of us laugh at this joke as we did the day before, and the day before that.

Puu compliments me today on my sport shirt. This has become routine too. Often he tells me he likes my haircut, or simply that I am handsome, but today he has focused on the shirt, admiring the cut and even feeling the texture as he directs me to my usual table. It is lunchtime, and like most days, I am the only customer. Occasionally two men set in the back drinking iced tea and playing chess, but today the only other occupants of the red plastic chairs are the nieces and nephews, who are lazily watching Khmer pop videos and karaoke ballads on the small TV mounted on the wall.

As always, Puu is dressed well but simply--in pressed, pleated trousers, a long-sleeve button down that is slightly too large, and black leather sandals. As I sit, he says something in Khmer I don’t quite catch.

“Som toh, m’dong tiyit.” Once again, I ask.
“I missed you,” he repeats, this time more slowly. I chuckle, considering the fact that its been just 24 hours since I saw him last.
“K’nyom dai,” I say. I missed you too. Again, he beams, and laughs proudly. The nieces and nephews have shifted their attentions from the TV. One of them scurries to the back to retrieve a menu, despite the fact they all know what I will order. This too, is part of the routine.

“What will it be today?” Uncle asks. Again, laughter.
“Fried vegetables with rice and an ice coffee with condensed milk,” I order confidently in Khmer, without opening the menu.
“Mian ph’sut k’mao?”
“Ba, mian ch’ran,” he smiles, knowing the black mushrooms to be my favorite.
“Aukun ch’ran Puu,” I thank him, and then he is off to the kitchen, leaving me with his nieces and nephews who are too shy to talk much, but all smile like their uncle.

Monkey Business

Last weekend I was mountain biking on the old earthen wall of Angkor Thom, when suddenly my path was blocked by a troop of about 40 monkeys. While not super-aggressive, they certainly had no fear of me and a few were quite interested in my bike, helmet, and my water bottle, which one pulled out of the cage and tried to make off with. Cheeky bugger. The majority of them paid me no attention, even when I approached to take photos from close range. Nearly got in the middle of a domestic dispute between a mother and young male who was displeased about something, but I managed to escape the melee.


"Hey you monkeys, get out of my way!"


Mother eating, with wide-eyed baby.


"Hmmm, wonder what this handlebar and seat taste like?"


New perch


Sad monkey at sunset


Contemplation


Confused


The Helmet Licker


My favorite photo of the bunch

Vignette #2: The Tenor

He is sitting across from me at the corner booth, smiling with a precocious and yet still innocent arrogance that quickly reveals itself to be entirely feigned. The man could easily pass for 18, and though I guess him to be about 28, is actually a decade older 38. He is introduced to me as Cambodia’s only operatic tenor, something I initially disbelieve. Flashing his deceptively boyish grin, he hands over a business card—his name is written elegantly in Khmer and English calligraphy, and then below in block print, plainly says “TENOR.” I am not fully convinced. He pours us each a Jaeger bomb, a rather foul concoction, and in one swift motion downs the drink and plunks the tumbler back on the table, clinking the shot glass inside. I follow. Wiping a drop from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, he tells me of his eight years of training in Russia and his performances of Puccini and Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff in Rome and Moscow and even Pyongyang. He is fluent in Russian and English, and yet sitting in a sleeveless T-shirt, flaunting his compact, sinewy biceps, he appears to me a cocksure young boxer. He pours two more shots before I can refuse. The conversation begins to flow as freely as the drinks, and we move on to politics and women and Pol Pot. The name. It slams into me as hard as the last shot hit my throat. Again, I have forgotten his age. He is not an innocent kid, his eyes have witnessed terrors I can’t imagine even in nightmares. He was five when Phnom Penh was overtaken and evacuated. Bluntly, he tells me about surviving the Khmer Rouge, the separation from his parents, and then much too candidly, about the loss of his brothers and sisters, mentioning them like marbles lost in a childhood game. I am shaken, and do not respond. He reaches for the bottle again, though this time I politely decline, and cover the glass with my hand. He drinks again, peering at me with painless eyes, eyes that reveal nothing at all. In two days, I will hear him sing, and the encounter will make even less sense.

Vignette #1: The Nonchalant

I've been trying to do a bit of creative writing recently, just for fun really. As I have almost no imagination when it comes to characters or plots, I've just been writing exaggerations loosely based on personal experiences. Following is the first in a series of vignettes I will be posting in the coming weeks...

The café is misnamed, for it does not occupy the corner. In fact, the Corner Bar & Grill sits exactly four businesses away from the corner, nestled between a pair of cafes looking remarkably similar to the Corner. Never mind, this fact doesn’t seem to matter in the least to the mysterious young European sitting cross-legged on the rattan chair under the Corner’s awning. Despite the heat, her slender limbs are covered to the wrists and ankles in black attire that would look nondescript in gray London perhaps, but here set her apart from the multitudes of barang dressed in revealing tank tops and vibrant skirts. She fidgets in the chair, her long legs making it difficult to curl up as she appears wont to do. Reaching for a Marlboro from a packet on the table, she gazes indifferently out of the café at nothing in particular, seemingly oblivious to the bustle of passing motos and street vendors. As she flicks her lighter, a strand of auburn hair falls from behind her ear, dangerously close to the flame and yet this too, she appears not to notice. With each drag, she exhales disdainfully, as if perturbed that the coming breath of fresh air will interrupt the nicotine gratification. Neither happy or sad, it is quite evident that the only thing holding any interest for her is the precious cigarette.

2008: The Top 100

I'll forewarn you, this is a long one. I wrote these entirely for me, but I thought I would share them as they are my best memories from what was truly a sensational year. I am blessed to have so many opportunities and good people around me. Without further ado, here you have them:

1. New Year’s Day in Sihanoukville, Cambodia with Daniela and the CAR Team -- an uninhabited island, champagne, euchre, Frisbee, and warm Cambodian sun.

2. Rim to rim to rim. Traversing the Grand Canyon on foot twice in two days with my friend Liv. I never been so tired, and a beer has never tasted better than at the top.

3. Cycling to the coastal town of Kep with a group from PEPY, including a 140km day.

4. Mom and Dad’s 40th anniversary weekend. Great time with the whole family and old friends. I enjoyed cooking the meal and keeping my mom out of the kitchen for once!

5. “Babysitting” my nieces and nephews. I gave them a cardboard box and bubble wrap and they played for 8 hours and needed no supervision.

6. Motorbike adventures in Lao, including a breakdown near the Chinese border, running out of gas in the middle of endless rice paddies, and getting quite lost for about two hours on a forested back road.

7. Obama wins. What a night that was, even in front of the TV in Gurley Holler.

8. Teaching mi compadre Andrew how to fly-fish, and watching him catch his first fish on a fly. He’s a natural.

9. Coming home to NC late spring. Beautiful.

10. The stark naked roller skater on the river boardwalk in Portland Oregon.

11. Dawn bike rides around the temples of Angkor with Adam and Daniela. At ban chop k’nyom!

12. My first Backroads trip in the Canyons with Chuck, Courtney, Jason, and Sarah. My first time cooking for 30 people—chaotic, but so much fun!

13. The best ever day fishing with Pop on Secret Creek. Best Ever.

14. Camping, fishing, and hot spring-ing with Asha in Oregon.

15. Lao New Year—a 3-day water fight in Luang Prabang.

16. Chopping firewood in the fall. Hands down my favorite chore at home in Gurley Holler.

17. Seeing Marc and Erika, just after the birth of their first son, Forrest B.

18. Learning to make Khmer curry from scratch with Thavry.

19. Cooking at home with Mom, both in the spring and fall.

20. Dawn on the river near Chi Phat, Cambodia.

21. Scrabble, cards, and PB apples in Chanleas Dai with Adam and Karina.

22. Chatting to monks at pagodas in Phnom Penh and Siem Reap. So warm and peaceful.

23. Finndependence & the Punk Party, because blue-cross Mohawks and costumes are just plain fun.

24. Playing ‘Merica with Mike and Adam from Utah to Wisconsin to Cambodia.

25. Finally seeing Ryan Adams again, and the buildup to the show.

26. Wakeboarding with Danny and Dad on Lake James.

27. Hiking the Narrows in Zion with my Sarah.

28. Hiking the Art Loeb trail with Andrew and Brian. I don’t know why I never did this while growing up, it is a stunning hike in WNC.

29. Fishing with Pop on Cane Creek in Bakersville. So much fun early in the season before the worm fisherman get to them!

30. Biking on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, a great 50-mile solo ride out to Point Imperial.

31. Meeting a young Lao university student, who kindly stopped me on the street and showed me around Luang Prabang for the day.

32. The last day of the Davita trip. Packing up 140 tents for the 4th time in 5 days wasn’t necessarily fun, but the early fall day was gorgeous and it felt great to finish a huge undertaking.

33. Eating mango sticky rice for breakfast on a restaurant terrace overlooking the Mekong, along with petroleum thick Lao coffee and a coconut shake.

34. Hiking on Mt. Hood with Mike and Ikuko.

35. Jonathan’s rooftop musical performance at Chez PEPY.

36. Dutch oven cooking all summer. Because baking cakes and bread while you’re camping is downright delicious.

37. Hot apple cider in the fall. Felt like a kid again.

38. Thanksgiving with the gang @ Chateau PEPY in Siem Reap. My favorite holiday, and while I never seem to be home with family (7 years running), I always end up in amazing places with great people.

39. Spending the night in the Cambodian jungle. Not particularly comfortable in sardine hammocks, but a memorable night nonetheless.

40. Planting some flowering trees with my Pop in the spring. It just feels good get grab a shovel, get your hands in the earth, and plant a tree.

41. My first-ever time rock climbing, near Phnom Kulen. A great day with Adam, Daniela, Thavry, and a fun group of Japanese folks.

42. Leader Rock on the North Rim with carrot cake and wine. Unbeatable.

43. Asheville Tourists game with Andrew. Nothing like a minor league ballpark, hotdogs, a beer, and some old Republicans behind you talking politics & baseball.

44. Meeting Lina and Puu @ Siem Reap Town, my favorite local spot to eat in Siem Reap. I am often the only customer and they never fail to welcome me like family.

45. Buildup to the Election. Watching the debates and discussing politics was interesting and fun for a change, with liberals and conservatives alike.

46. Playing the KneeKnocker game in Siem Reap with Aaron and the locals during Khmer New Year.

47. Meeting Kung Nai and the Instrument Maker, artists who survived the Khmer Rouge, and watching young Cambodian perform traditional Khmer dance and song.

48. Exchanges with the moto and tuk-tuk drivers outside Chez PEPY in Phnom Penh. We always said the same thing and it was always entertaining.

49. Bubble Tea and dumplings with Mandy and Tech.

50. The smile on Meth’s face when I gave her a loaf of homemade bread.

51. Watching the river dolphins, and then the sunset on the Mekong River.

52. Dancing Meringue on the beach in Sihanoukville, Cambodia. This made no sense, perhaps why it was so enjoyable.

53. Hiking and swimming at Kuang Si falls, outside Luang Prabang.

54. Playing “Celebrity” and hanging with the Gunshop crew.

55. Cooking and eating with Erin, Achaya, Mandy, Wonton, and Tech.

56. Driving in the Canyons and making cakes with camp assistant Sarah.

57. Exploring Portland on a bicycle.

58. Exploring Phnom Penh on a bicyle.

59. Dropping a transmission in Middle of Nowhere, Wyoming with Mike and Adam.

60. Road trip with Morgan across the Heartland and the many truckstops along the way.

61. Kayaking the Nam Ou with a playful guide and a fun couple from the Czech Republic.

62. Playing euchre with Aaron, and reliving our days in Peace Corps Panama.

63. The few times my whole family was together for a meal.

64. Hiking Paintbrush Canyon in the Tetons with Justin, and a long discussion about religion.

65. Fishing with Keon and Brad outside Victor, and the hamburgers afterward.

66. Angels Landing in Zion with Liv. Simply exhilirating.

67. Kitesurfing with Daniela in Mui Ne, Vietnam. There isn’t a better rush than being locked in to the wind and zipping across the waves.

68. The kindness of three Lao families who invited me into their homes for Lao New Year meals and celebration. Well two of them invited me. I am still not sure how I ended up at one home. They were completely baffled by my presence (as was I), but were kind enough to not turn me away!

69. Mountain biking in and around Dalat, Vietnam, the City of Eternal Spring. And strawberry fields forever. Really.

70. Getting robbed in Dalat. This was strangely a good experience. The thief snuck into my hotel room at night, and was kind not to wake me while taking only $16, and leaving my camera, iPod, credit card, and other cash.

71. Teaching for two days at the PEPY Ride School in Chanleas Dai. Eager students make teaching so much fun.

72. Visiting Beng Mealea with Aaron K. Its like playing Indian Jones.

73. Leading a PEPY trip with Peppi, and losing/recovering the generator.

74. Fishing the Davidson River for the 1st time outside Brevard. I went on a whim, had a beautiful morning and caught a monster.

75. Canyoneering in Zion. Indescribable, and Zion became one of my favorite places.

76. Emily’s wedding in Celo. After a hail storm delayed the event, the service was blessed by one of the most beautiful late afternoons I had seen in a long time. Good times with old friends.

76. Sleeping outside under the stars all summer.

77. Visiting Lambeau Field. What an incredible place, just for football. Only football.

78. Homemade Tonkatsu with Mike and Ikuko in Portland. Natsukashii!!! Felt like Japan again.

79. Cycling on crisp autumn days in NC on my newly purchased road bike.

80. Little Tokyo in LA with Matt. Felt like a tiny slice of Japan.

81. Speaking Spanish at the Mexican taquerias in Grand Prairie, TX. Also, the tacos.

82. Returning to Phnom Penh, and wandering on foot. So much character.

83. Mountain biking in Chi Phat, and the best cold shower I’ve ever had at the waterfall.

84. Mountain biking around the Western Baray, and on top of the ancient wall of Angkor Thom.

85. Dinner and wine on the back porch with Andrew, Mom, and Dad in early summer.

86. Reunion with Mandy and Wonton in San Francisco Airport.

87. Seeing the Tetons for the first time.

88. Returning to PEPY. What a wonderful group of people to live and work with.

89. Falling in love with Portland.

90. Camping in eastern Idaho and western Montana with Pop.

91. Visiting RDIC for the third time, and seeing their projects.

92. Watching the Olympics, especially sports I generally have no interest in like archery and gymnastics.

93. Routinely getting up at 5am this summer to get the coffee and breakfast started.

94. Trying to perfect the tomato bisque.

95. PEPY Paintball.

96. On the swings with Asha.

97. Barefoot in the white sand dunes of Mui Ne. A bizarre feeling to be alone in the desert.

98. Going away party from PEPY at Sovanna and Pontoon. Incredible friends, delicious steak, and ridiculous dancing.

99. New Years Eve Midnight. With good friends in a hot tub on a hotel rooftop terrace in Siem Reap, watching the fireworks and floating lanterns over the city.

100. Making countless plans for 2009. I never seem to tire of dreaming up new places to go and new things to try.