I wrote this blog post about two months ago, after a particularly challenging week. I never posted it. Last week was another such week and after rereading this, I found it still resonates with me. Apologies for the angst.
___________
Living and working in Cambodia has done away with simple, one-dimensional experiences and feelings. Every piece of every event is sunk deep into many layers of emotion and subsequent reordering. As someone who like things to make sense, to be neat and ordered, to follow rules, (even, I will admit, to be under my control), this has caused stress, anxiety, exhaustion and finally, this epiphany.
Let me explain.
For the past few months, Wednesdays at Liger have been planned and carried out by the interns, to allow the teaching staff to come together and plan both the day-to-day and the long-term. We are still in the throes of setting up a functioning, "world-class school of the 21st century," so the planning, reflecting, redoing and documenting are endless. Yesterday was another Wednesday as such. With only the rest of this week and then four days between us and an eleven-day vacation, we had much to discuss involving our kids' departure (transitioning them home and back), as well as a slew of health checks on the horizon shortly after break (eyes checked, hearing checked, immunizations administered, teeth pulled, etc.). As the meeting unfolded and I took up my usual post as note-taker, I realized that it was almost impossible to detail and quantify everything that we were talking about -- firstly, because many of the items on our agenda simply could not be solved or planned in one day and secondly, because as each new idea was put on the docket, my brain became more and more overwhelmed. By lunchtime, my laptop was closed and I had retreated into myself.
Let me explain further.
The agenda itself included more than 25 pertinent items, such as finalizing our schedule for next week and the week back, developing an overarching system of grouping students based on tailored instruction, the physical and technological resources we currently have and those we need, and reflecting on "summer camp," which occurred almost two months ago. For most teachers out there, this list probably doesn't differ all that much from the list on the Post-It note stuck to your desk. However, with only six of us, all of whom are planning and implementing lessons of our own, running after-school activities, supporting the interns, TAs and house parents, assessing, reassessing and documenting everything for future Ligers, etc., it is not so straightforward.
I want to be clear, so I will give an example. About six weeks ago, I spent a Friday away from the students, researching online learning programs. Liger is interested in purchasing an accredited program to ensure that our kids are matching up in their academic subject areas with other kids their age. After a fruitless day of research, it became clear to me that there is not one online learning program out there that will meet our students' needs. Parts of some programs were better than others, but the majority were quite expensive and did not really move online completely until middle school. Robert was not surprised by my findings, and we both admitted to a previous hunch that we were going to have to devise Liger's own online learning curriculum. The reality is, what we are trying to do here has not been done before. There is no currently existing curriculum (online or otherwise) that caters to gifted students who come from the provinces of Cambodia, and balances their English-language limitations with their incredible capacity to understand higher-level concepts. If you know of one, please, send it to me.
So, we went back to the drawing board. Online learning was put on hold and I began reaching out to teacher friends at home to collect different websites and online tools that we could use to fuse together our own curriculum. Then, two weeks ago, Robert tells me that he has been in contact with representatives from an online learning program that he thinks might work. My initial feeling: great. In a way, it was a relief that something was going to be taken care of and removed from our plate. I also knew that we would be able to modify and supplement as needed. Yesterday, Robert told me that he had been under the assumption that this online learning company, like many other companies we have worked with as Liger gets off the ground, was going to offer us a foundation discount. He was incorrect and had received a pricing at $30,000. I laughed out loud when I heard this, because that number is ludicrous and clearly not something that we are able to pay. So, we were really back to square one, which sent me back to relief, this time because we did not have to work around a framework that was perhaps unsuitable for our kids. This relief was kicked swiftly in the ass by dismay and then growing anxiety at the realization that we now (again) needed to develop an online curriculum.
I have started to think of it as living in the gray. I am usually so clear on where I stand on different things. A friend comes to me with a problem and I know the correct solution. An issue is presented in the media and I can speak easily and passionately about my opinion. I strongly advocated to parents, administrators, other teachers and specialists on what I believed to be the best options for my special education students. Since coming to Cambodia and Liger, I have leapt into a pool of uncertainty, where I think I know, but am never sure about anything.
Should we be prioritizing teaching the students English or developing their higher-level thinking skills in their native language?
Should we have the students take a more active role in the Liger campus and ask them to lay the bricks and participate in cooking meals since we are promoting ourselves as an experiential-based lab school that is teaching skills applicable to Cambodia? Or, because they are "gifted," will exposing them to these be a waste of time, as they will not lead a life that requires the ability to lay brick?
Should we start tutoring students who are showing a need for more support based on the assessment data we have gathered or should we reroute the schedule and groupings to allow for more tailored instruction throughout the existing school day?
Should we accept more students in order to maximize our impact on the largest number of eligible students or should we focus exclusively on the 50 that we have?
Are the students too over-scheduled, starting their day at 7:15 and often going until 9pm or does this schedule help them adjust to what will be a demanding academic schedule for their next ten years?
There are no right and wrong answers, and there is no quick fix.
I suppose things that are important and authentic rarely do...
Monday, December 17, 2012
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Regression to the Mean
I guess I should pause my Taylor Swift song to write this properly...
Recently, my Dad commented on one of my blog posts: you're the one who wanted "adventure."
Ah, yes, leave it to Dads and Moms everywhere to remind you that you have chosen this situation about which you so complain. But I wasn't complaining. Per se. I was attempting to realign my perceptions about Cambodia as a whole once new information (the overwhelming tourism in Siem Reap) entered into the equation. This is something that Jeff and I are constantly forced to do. Something happens and we stop, reassess, integrate it into the big picture and move forward. At times, the new information or new experience is a positive one, which lightens our feelings about Cambodia and its people. Unfortunately, we also have to deal with negative experiences, which make us question major things like our safety, the limitations of our neighbors and our overall ability to appreciate each day here. Sometimes the "move forward" part is not so easy.
On Thanksgiving, such an event occurred. We sort of fell into Thanksgiving this year. All of a sudden is was a few days prior and no plans had been made. Being the planner that I am, I researched options in the city, sent an email to staff to drum up some company and ended up booking a reservation for 12 at the Himawari hotel for a Thanksgiving buffet. Although it was a little bit pricey, it was a big enough venue for all of us, and it just so happened to be in the same building as a brand-new brewery turning out top-notch beer (quite a rare find). The night was really enjoyable, with all the traditional Thanksgiving fare: turkey, gravy, chestnut stuffing, mashed potatoes, carrots, peas, corn, squash, lots of bread, two kinds of soup (French Onion, what whaaat) and of course, whoopie pies. Haha, no pecan pie at this dinner, whoopie pies would have to do. And they did -- I had three. Although I missed being with my family and eating Tom's Mom's turnips, Liz's carrot cake and my Mom's creamed onions that she makes especially for me, it was a nice night. We were lucky enough to be joined by Navin, who celebrated her first ever Thanksgiving with us.
After dinner, six of us on three motos headed back to Liger in a bit of a pack. We had all left the hotel at the same time, but we were not intentionally staying together. We just knew that we were all within a few blocks of each other. Jeff and I zipped through town, across the bridge and onto our side of the city, heading back on the road we always take. It was about 8:30 or 9:00pm and although there are always street lights and a few people out, the more rural area we live in is typically deserted by this time. People go into their houses, lock up, turn off their generators and go to bed.
As we came around a bend in the road, the moto in front of us slowed down, its brake lights coming on strong. I whispered to Jeff to slow down too, but within an instant we had taken in the situation and Jeff replied, "not slowing down." The scene that we came upon was eerie in that it should have been more frenetic. It should have involved people screaming, running, sirens, etc., but it was almost silent. We had come upon the aftermath of a bike accident in which a man had been killed. Basically, from what we could deduce once all six of us got home and discussed what each of us had seen, the man was riding his moto without a helmet. He was either drunk and crashed into something, or had been hit by someone else, who had driven away. What we saw was a semi-circle of people standing rather calmly around a body, which looked as if it were asleep on the side of the road. There was no panic. Not very much blood. A few people were jogging toward the individual from up the road. Children were present, but no paramedics. He was certainly dead -- this much we know. How much worse would it have been if he was not? That's a thought I try not to let myself engage with too often.
As we drove past, I immediately worried that the interns on the other two bikes were behind us and that perhaps they would get caught up in the extended melee that this accident could cause. Fortunately, both bikes arrived at Liger just before we did, and everyone in our party was safe.
For the rest of the week, this scene sat with me. I currently live full-time in a country without any emergency response system. And while Jeff and I are vigilant about wearing our helmets in a way that not many Cambodians are, we are still at risk. We never drink and drive, and we don't speed, but we also don't speak the local language. We know first aid and have a list of numbers of Khmer and Western friends who would rush to our side if we called, but even by being here and being foreign, we are at risk. It was sobering to say the least. There was no ambulance coming to get that man. His family probably did not know where he was, and after speaking to Khmer staff at school about it, probably would not know for quite some time. I was told that when there was a death like that, the police were called to investigate and alert the family, but the police go off duty at 8pm in Cambodia, so there is a chance that no one came until the following morning.
I admit, I was unsure if I was even going to bring this up in this forum. I can see many of you reading this with a growing pit in your stomach. And yes, it is a cause for concern, but it is also the reality of where we live and it has served as a lesson in personal safety, heightened awareness and the understanding that no matter how long we live here, this is not our country. It also spoke to the fact that while Cambodia has seen amazing economic growth in the past ten years, they are a country that is still experiencing the vast effects of genocide and civil war; Cambodia has made light-years of progress, but still has quite a long way to go. In many ways, that is the exact reason that we have fallen in love with it -- we are in the right place at the right time to effect maximum change.
Sunday night at about 6pm, we decided to head into town with Nica for dinner at a French place we hadn't tried out yet. It's in the ex-pat part of town that we frequent, so we are all quite familiar with the area. Nica, being only about five feet (five one, to be exact -- I would never shortchange you LBN), fits easily behind me, so we drove in together on the bike. We crossed the bridge and headed down Norodom like always, and after about five minutes, slowed down and got in the left lane to make our turn. Just then, I felt the bike shake and tilt, as if we had been sideswiped. Jeff did not lose control of the bike, but it wobbled and we all held on tightly. Then, I heard Nica start screaming and cursing, pointing at a bike that had just nearly hit us and then peeled off. Two young guys on a nearby moto had tried to grab Nica's purse from where it sat in between my back and her front. The bag had a metal chain and the chain snapped, but she managed to hang on to it. After making the turn and ensuring that no one was hurt, we realized that we were very lucky. Worst case scenario, the bag could have remained intact and the force of their pull could have sent Nica right off the bike. If that happened, there is a good chance all three of us would have tipped over on the street.
Two cocktails later, we talked about how it was great that she had her bag, but that even if it had been stolen, it would have been nothing more than an inconvenience. A chance to get a new cell phone. The worst part was the sense of being violated. They had grabbed her bag, and because it was across her body, had invaded her space. We also assumed that this was not a last minute decision on their part, but that they had probably been following us for a few blocks before they made their move as we slowed down. We remarked at how strange it was to have experienced the accident just two days before, and then have Nica's bag grabbed, something all of us had been warned about since day one but had never had happen.
Rain began to fall as we ate dinner. It is technically the rainy season, but we have not had very much rain. By the time we were finished, it had stopped, but the streets were still wet. We got on the bike, making sure that our bags were tucked carefully away, and headed home. Unfortunately, bad things come in threes -- only minutes after turning onto Norodom, we saw another victim of a bike accident. This time, two men on bikes and a tuk-tuk driver had pulled over to help. Again, the man was helmetless and therefore, dead.
We tried to wrap our minds around this for the second time, and I caustically asked if we should just get used to seeing dead people on the side of the road; Jeff replied that the chances of these things "happening" to us while living here was probably about once a month. We made it through four entire months without seeing any major accidents and without having our bag stolen. Well, it was purely regression to the mean that we now had experienced three such events all within four days.
Just when we thought things were settling, we are reminded that Cambodia is anything but settled...
Recently, my Dad commented on one of my blog posts: you're the one who wanted "adventure."
Ah, yes, leave it to Dads and Moms everywhere to remind you that you have chosen this situation about which you so complain. But I wasn't complaining. Per se. I was attempting to realign my perceptions about Cambodia as a whole once new information (the overwhelming tourism in Siem Reap) entered into the equation. This is something that Jeff and I are constantly forced to do. Something happens and we stop, reassess, integrate it into the big picture and move forward. At times, the new information or new experience is a positive one, which lightens our feelings about Cambodia and its people. Unfortunately, we also have to deal with negative experiences, which make us question major things like our safety, the limitations of our neighbors and our overall ability to appreciate each day here. Sometimes the "move forward" part is not so easy.
On Thanksgiving, such an event occurred. We sort of fell into Thanksgiving this year. All of a sudden is was a few days prior and no plans had been made. Being the planner that I am, I researched options in the city, sent an email to staff to drum up some company and ended up booking a reservation for 12 at the Himawari hotel for a Thanksgiving buffet. Although it was a little bit pricey, it was a big enough venue for all of us, and it just so happened to be in the same building as a brand-new brewery turning out top-notch beer (quite a rare find). The night was really enjoyable, with all the traditional Thanksgiving fare: turkey, gravy, chestnut stuffing, mashed potatoes, carrots, peas, corn, squash, lots of bread, two kinds of soup (French Onion, what whaaat) and of course, whoopie pies. Haha, no pecan pie at this dinner, whoopie pies would have to do. And they did -- I had three. Although I missed being with my family and eating Tom's Mom's turnips, Liz's carrot cake and my Mom's creamed onions that she makes especially for me, it was a nice night. We were lucky enough to be joined by Navin, who celebrated her first ever Thanksgiving with us.
After dinner, six of us on three motos headed back to Liger in a bit of a pack. We had all left the hotel at the same time, but we were not intentionally staying together. We just knew that we were all within a few blocks of each other. Jeff and I zipped through town, across the bridge and onto our side of the city, heading back on the road we always take. It was about 8:30 or 9:00pm and although there are always street lights and a few people out, the more rural area we live in is typically deserted by this time. People go into their houses, lock up, turn off their generators and go to bed.
As we came around a bend in the road, the moto in front of us slowed down, its brake lights coming on strong. I whispered to Jeff to slow down too, but within an instant we had taken in the situation and Jeff replied, "not slowing down." The scene that we came upon was eerie in that it should have been more frenetic. It should have involved people screaming, running, sirens, etc., but it was almost silent. We had come upon the aftermath of a bike accident in which a man had been killed. Basically, from what we could deduce once all six of us got home and discussed what each of us had seen, the man was riding his moto without a helmet. He was either drunk and crashed into something, or had been hit by someone else, who had driven away. What we saw was a semi-circle of people standing rather calmly around a body, which looked as if it were asleep on the side of the road. There was no panic. Not very much blood. A few people were jogging toward the individual from up the road. Children were present, but no paramedics. He was certainly dead -- this much we know. How much worse would it have been if he was not? That's a thought I try not to let myself engage with too often.
As we drove past, I immediately worried that the interns on the other two bikes were behind us and that perhaps they would get caught up in the extended melee that this accident could cause. Fortunately, both bikes arrived at Liger just before we did, and everyone in our party was safe.
For the rest of the week, this scene sat with me. I currently live full-time in a country without any emergency response system. And while Jeff and I are vigilant about wearing our helmets in a way that not many Cambodians are, we are still at risk. We never drink and drive, and we don't speed, but we also don't speak the local language. We know first aid and have a list of numbers of Khmer and Western friends who would rush to our side if we called, but even by being here and being foreign, we are at risk. It was sobering to say the least. There was no ambulance coming to get that man. His family probably did not know where he was, and after speaking to Khmer staff at school about it, probably would not know for quite some time. I was told that when there was a death like that, the police were called to investigate and alert the family, but the police go off duty at 8pm in Cambodia, so there is a chance that no one came until the following morning.
I admit, I was unsure if I was even going to bring this up in this forum. I can see many of you reading this with a growing pit in your stomach. And yes, it is a cause for concern, but it is also the reality of where we live and it has served as a lesson in personal safety, heightened awareness and the understanding that no matter how long we live here, this is not our country. It also spoke to the fact that while Cambodia has seen amazing economic growth in the past ten years, they are a country that is still experiencing the vast effects of genocide and civil war; Cambodia has made light-years of progress, but still has quite a long way to go. In many ways, that is the exact reason that we have fallen in love with it -- we are in the right place at the right time to effect maximum change.
Sunday night at about 6pm, we decided to head into town with Nica for dinner at a French place we hadn't tried out yet. It's in the ex-pat part of town that we frequent, so we are all quite familiar with the area. Nica, being only about five feet (five one, to be exact -- I would never shortchange you LBN), fits easily behind me, so we drove in together on the bike. We crossed the bridge and headed down Norodom like always, and after about five minutes, slowed down and got in the left lane to make our turn. Just then, I felt the bike shake and tilt, as if we had been sideswiped. Jeff did not lose control of the bike, but it wobbled and we all held on tightly. Then, I heard Nica start screaming and cursing, pointing at a bike that had just nearly hit us and then peeled off. Two young guys on a nearby moto had tried to grab Nica's purse from where it sat in between my back and her front. The bag had a metal chain and the chain snapped, but she managed to hang on to it. After making the turn and ensuring that no one was hurt, we realized that we were very lucky. Worst case scenario, the bag could have remained intact and the force of their pull could have sent Nica right off the bike. If that happened, there is a good chance all three of us would have tipped over on the street.
Two cocktails later, we talked about how it was great that she had her bag, but that even if it had been stolen, it would have been nothing more than an inconvenience. A chance to get a new cell phone. The worst part was the sense of being violated. They had grabbed her bag, and because it was across her body, had invaded her space. We also assumed that this was not a last minute decision on their part, but that they had probably been following us for a few blocks before they made their move as we slowed down. We remarked at how strange it was to have experienced the accident just two days before, and then have Nica's bag grabbed, something all of us had been warned about since day one but had never had happen.
Rain began to fall as we ate dinner. It is technically the rainy season, but we have not had very much rain. By the time we were finished, it had stopped, but the streets were still wet. We got on the bike, making sure that our bags were tucked carefully away, and headed home. Unfortunately, bad things come in threes -- only minutes after turning onto Norodom, we saw another victim of a bike accident. This time, two men on bikes and a tuk-tuk driver had pulled over to help. Again, the man was helmetless and therefore, dead.
We tried to wrap our minds around this for the second time, and I caustically asked if we should just get used to seeing dead people on the side of the road; Jeff replied that the chances of these things "happening" to us while living here was probably about once a month. We made it through four entire months without seeing any major accidents and without having our bag stolen. Well, it was purely regression to the mean that we now had experienced three such events all within four days.
Just when we thought things were settling, we are reminded that Cambodia is anything but settled...
Friday, November 30, 2012
Normal Life?
I cannot believe that Thanksgiving has passed and we are less than one month away from Christmas. It seems inconceivable that we have been living in Cambodia for almost four months, while at the same time it feels like we have been here forever.
I have not been as good about updating the blog as I was in the beginning, mostly because everything seems more mundane and less exciting to write about. I guess that is the natural progression of things, but I will do my best to update now.
Since my last update, Kate and Tyler continued their honeymoon into Laos and Vietnam. We started school the day after returning from Siem Reap, and it was awesome to see the kids after almost two weeks. I remember hearing their voices when they first starting arriving back on campus -- it felt like we were home. Luckily, we did not lose any students to the vacation. As much as I tried to push the thought out of my head, we were well aware that it is typical for a boarding student population to lose a first-year student or two during their first vacation. However, all our students seemed happy to be back and had lots of stories to tell about being home. A lot of them came back with new things -- new clothes, new hair accessories, one student actually came back with dyed black hair...
One of the first activities that I facilitated with the kids after break was creating a "memory museum." Each student was asked to bring something back with them from home that served as a memory. I explained that a memento is something that helps you to imagine or remember a special place. I showed the kids pictures from Kate and Ty's wedding as my example.
It was so interesting to see what the kids all brought back -- from a specially carved pair of chopsticks to a huge coconut to a small pebble and even a new pair of sandals -- the students presented their objects so genuinely. Each child made a label for their object, and since we don't have a fully functioning library yet (we have thousands of dollars worth of books headed our way from China, woo hoo!), we decorated the empty shelves with our memories. It was a really special thing to do with the kids and although a lot of their discussion and sharing was in Khmer, I feel like it helped me to get to know the students even better. I also felt a sense of settling, in that we know these are our 50 kids and they know we are their teachers and no one is leaving. It all felt a lot more permanent after getting through the first big hurdle of vacation.
The first weekend back was Oktoberfest. Jess, who formerly worked at an international school in Munich, insisted that it would be fun for a bunch of us to get tickets to the local celebration. I was doubtful of the good time to be had at a Cambodian version of Oktoberfest, especially since they struggle in the beer department, but we bought tickets anyway. Robert and his wife, Kate, me and Jeff, Jess and Nica, Max and JoJo all shelled out the $18 and arrived just as things were getting started. The only down side to the entire event was the Tiger beer (reminiscent of Busch Light). Otherwise, it was one of the most fun nights I have had here. There was authentic German food, including fresh baked pretzel bread, a whole roasted pig (delicious!), pickled cabbage, potatoes of all kinds, lots of condiments, three kinds of sausage, etc. It was a feast! An authentic German band, complete with dread-locked flute player and old, gray-bearded accordion man were a blast, encouraging the guests to dance on the tables (which we happily did) and sing along to German songs with accompanying hand motions. Jess vouched for their authenticity. We had an absolutely fantastic time. We met some other teachers from another international school and JoJo and I ended up on stage singing 4 Non Blondes "What's Up?" Makes sense, right? The Cambodian contingent, to their credit, were all down to have a great time. Some were dancing with us and a lot were dancing together, but overall it was one of the only times that I have seen local Cambodians (albeit the upper class - $$ admission) loosen up and have fun in an overt way. They also played Gangnum Style no less three times, which guarantees a good night.
Meanwhile, school has taken on more of a routine, as we have begun a more standard and consistent academic program. Our fifty kids have been organized into two groups (21 and 29), with the smaller number consisting of those students who need more support in English oral language development. They are non-readers, many of whom are still in the phonics stage (linking letters and sounds). We spent the first two weeks working through capital and lowercase letter identification and we are still drilling sounds every morning. The 29 are all reading at an A level or higher and have better oral language skills. Thankfully, the majority of all 50 kids are able to express higher level thinking skills in their mother tongue, including insights into what they would say to the members of the ASEAN conference if they had the chance. One of our 21 indicated that he knew that Cambodia had borrowed a lot of money from the U.S. a long time ago and if he had the chance, he would ask Obama to erase the debt. A girl from the 29 said she wanted to discuss human trafficking with the leaders. Another said she wanted to tell Obama that Cambodia is not a weak country. Our youngest boy said he would ask the leaders to buy him toys and ice cream because they probably have a lot of money...we definitely have a range here at Liger, haha.
Two weekends ago Jeff and I took a trip to Kampot, a riverside town about two and a half hours from the city. We hired a car to whisk us away at 4:45 on Friday and arrived by 7:15. The hotel we stayed in was right next to the river, within full view of the beautiful tree-covered mountains, a sight unseen in the city. It had a big pool and a delicious restaurant (best fish tacos we've had), as well as a general feeling of all the guests just hanging out together. Saturday we got a tuk-tuk and went from place to place, getting to know Kampot. It has a very small town feel compared to PP, and there is a pretty large French ex-pat and ex-pat in general influence/population. The highlight was going to these really cool caves that were filled with rock formations that look like different animals (elephants, cows, turtles, an old man, ghost (below), etc.).
We were toured through by five English-speaking Cambodian kids ranging from ten to eighteen. It was great to be able to speak to them about their lives, where they go to school, if the older ones are planning on going to university, where they live, how many siblings they have, etc. It was refreshing because its often really hard to communicate with our students the way we want to because of their English limitations (or our Khmer limitations...).
We had lunch overlooking the river at a cute little ex-pat run place and sipped a pitcher of Pimm's on the second level. That night we ate ribs at The Rusty Keyhole, met a couple from D.C. who were on a world tour (literally, they will be in Tanzania for New Years after touring throughout Asia, and hit Europe before ending in S. America); we ended the night at a newly opened cafe run by a wizened Frenchman who looks like Dumbledore but rages on the drums during live sets with his 18-year-old Cambodian guitar player. Overall the weekend was very relaxing and desperately needed. It was easy enough to get to, but still felt like we were far removed from our lives in the city.
I have to cut this short because we are heading off to a tour of the killing fields this morning with my friends Meaghan and Natalie from BC, who are visiting. Still to come: Thanksgiving, Meg Deg's visit, and some of the more trying components of Cambodian life...
I have not been as good about updating the blog as I was in the beginning, mostly because everything seems more mundane and less exciting to write about. I guess that is the natural progression of things, but I will do my best to update now.
Since my last update, Kate and Tyler continued their honeymoon into Laos and Vietnam. We started school the day after returning from Siem Reap, and it was awesome to see the kids after almost two weeks. I remember hearing their voices when they first starting arriving back on campus -- it felt like we were home. Luckily, we did not lose any students to the vacation. As much as I tried to push the thought out of my head, we were well aware that it is typical for a boarding student population to lose a first-year student or two during their first vacation. However, all our students seemed happy to be back and had lots of stories to tell about being home. A lot of them came back with new things -- new clothes, new hair accessories, one student actually came back with dyed black hair...
One of the first activities that I facilitated with the kids after break was creating a "memory museum." Each student was asked to bring something back with them from home that served as a memory. I explained that a memento is something that helps you to imagine or remember a special place. I showed the kids pictures from Kate and Ty's wedding as my example.
It was so interesting to see what the kids all brought back -- from a specially carved pair of chopsticks to a huge coconut to a small pebble and even a new pair of sandals -- the students presented their objects so genuinely. Each child made a label for their object, and since we don't have a fully functioning library yet (we have thousands of dollars worth of books headed our way from China, woo hoo!), we decorated the empty shelves with our memories. It was a really special thing to do with the kids and although a lot of their discussion and sharing was in Khmer, I feel like it helped me to get to know the students even better. I also felt a sense of settling, in that we know these are our 50 kids and they know we are their teachers and no one is leaving. It all felt a lot more permanent after getting through the first big hurdle of vacation.
The first weekend back was Oktoberfest. Jess, who formerly worked at an international school in Munich, insisted that it would be fun for a bunch of us to get tickets to the local celebration. I was doubtful of the good time to be had at a Cambodian version of Oktoberfest, especially since they struggle in the beer department, but we bought tickets anyway. Robert and his wife, Kate, me and Jeff, Jess and Nica, Max and JoJo all shelled out the $18 and arrived just as things were getting started. The only down side to the entire event was the Tiger beer (reminiscent of Busch Light). Otherwise, it was one of the most fun nights I have had here. There was authentic German food, including fresh baked pretzel bread, a whole roasted pig (delicious!), pickled cabbage, potatoes of all kinds, lots of condiments, three kinds of sausage, etc. It was a feast! An authentic German band, complete with dread-locked flute player and old, gray-bearded accordion man were a blast, encouraging the guests to dance on the tables (which we happily did) and sing along to German songs with accompanying hand motions. Jess vouched for their authenticity. We had an absolutely fantastic time. We met some other teachers from another international school and JoJo and I ended up on stage singing 4 Non Blondes "What's Up?" Makes sense, right? The Cambodian contingent, to their credit, were all down to have a great time. Some were dancing with us and a lot were dancing together, but overall it was one of the only times that I have seen local Cambodians (albeit the upper class - $$ admission) loosen up and have fun in an overt way. They also played Gangnum Style no less three times, which guarantees a good night.
Two weekends ago Jeff and I took a trip to Kampot, a riverside town about two and a half hours from the city. We hired a car to whisk us away at 4:45 on Friday and arrived by 7:15. The hotel we stayed in was right next to the river, within full view of the beautiful tree-covered mountains, a sight unseen in the city. It had a big pool and a delicious restaurant (best fish tacos we've had), as well as a general feeling of all the guests just hanging out together. Saturday we got a tuk-tuk and went from place to place, getting to know Kampot. It has a very small town feel compared to PP, and there is a pretty large French ex-pat and ex-pat in general influence/population. The highlight was going to these really cool caves that were filled with rock formations that look like different animals (elephants, cows, turtles, an old man, ghost (below), etc.).
We were toured through by five English-speaking Cambodian kids ranging from ten to eighteen. It was great to be able to speak to them about their lives, where they go to school, if the older ones are planning on going to university, where they live, how many siblings they have, etc. It was refreshing because its often really hard to communicate with our students the way we want to because of their English limitations (or our Khmer limitations...).
We had lunch overlooking the river at a cute little ex-pat run place and sipped a pitcher of Pimm's on the second level. That night we ate ribs at The Rusty Keyhole, met a couple from D.C. who were on a world tour (literally, they will be in Tanzania for New Years after touring throughout Asia, and hit Europe before ending in S. America); we ended the night at a newly opened cafe run by a wizened Frenchman who looks like Dumbledore but rages on the drums during live sets with his 18-year-old Cambodian guitar player. Overall the weekend was very relaxing and desperately needed. It was easy enough to get to, but still felt like we were far removed from our lives in the city.
I have to cut this short because we are heading off to a tour of the killing fields this morning with my friends Meaghan and Natalie from BC, who are visiting. Still to come: Thanksgiving, Meg Deg's visit, and some of the more trying components of Cambodian life...
Monday, November 5, 2012
Floating Village, Siem Reap
After our marvelous day on Silk Island, it was time to hop the bus to Siem Reap, something that Jeff and I had been looking forward to since arriving in Cambodia. To reference a phone conversation that I had with my 88-year-old grandfather a few weeks before leaving: "Angkor Wat! It's in Cambodia. I heard about it on the news. It's supposed to be amazing! Make sure you go!"
Yes, Angkor Wat is the main reason why any tourist would put Cambodia on their list of travel destinations. It is a huge source of revenue for the country, and something that we know we are probably going to visit more than once. Therefore, we wanted to wait for an excuse to go with visitors, instead of by ourselves (I did grow up 30 minutes from Niagara Falls, after all...).
We woke up early to catch the bus, but when we arrived, the bus we had reservations with had not acquired enough people to run to Siem Reap. We were shuffled onto another bus without much commotion or explanation, so we hopped on. I mean why not, right? It's an adventure. And this bus didn't look like it had anything wrong with it.
What ensued was a scene from a nightmare. In the thick of it, I believe I likened it to torture methods used on prisoners in Guantanamo Bay's isolation chambers. See, about ten minutes after departure, Jeff and I were snuggled into our seats with an episode of True Blood playing on the iPad when the TV at the front of the bus exploded with light and sound. A Khmer music video began playing at top volume.
Now, I am going to play Ron Swanson here: I think you may have read that last sentence incorrectly. Perhaps you think that what I meant was that the music was pretty loud. What I actually wrote was that the "video began playing at top volume." Literally the loudest that the sound system on the bus could go. For this bus, that was ear-splittingly loud. Headphones with a movie playing did nothing but make my head spin. Actual earplugs only dulled the bass, not the prominence of the music...if you could even call it that; the actual songs were abhorrent. Cambodian music has not evolved very far beyond high-pitched moans and garish, clanging background noise. It is misery in audio form.
Let me add insult to injury by mentioning that the bus we had initially signed up for had promised to deliver us at the foot of the temple (I exaggerate) within five hours. The bus we were shunted onto stopped no less than three times (for 45 minutes apiece) and delivered us to a dirty parking lot in nowheres-ville Siem Reap in just under EIGHT hours.
We are stupid Cambodian novices and we should be ashamed of ourselves.
Since this fiasco, our hearing and sanity have returned and we have heard from others (as they chuckle at our idiocy) that because many locals cannot afford personal devices for entertainment during long rides, these music videos are favored. This knowledge does not alleviate our heart palpitations as we revisit those loathsome memories.
I shall end this tirade by telling you that on the third stop, with only an hour and a half to go before Siem Reap, Jeff stalked the bus driver as he ate his afternoon meal and bribed him with five dollars to turn the videos off for the last segment of the trip. At that point I would have offered up 100 dollars, my iPad, my sister's new wedding ring AND my actual sister. But five dollars was acceptable, so that's what we went with. It was the best five dollars we ever spent.
Now go with me back to that dirty, empty parking lot. We are gathering up our stuff while a bunch of tuk-tuk drivers are anxiously collecting at the door to woo customers into their contraptions for transport. Our Silk Island friend John had set us up with his friend Toh La, but we did not know what he looked like. Luckily, Toh La came equipped with a printed sign for Mr. Jefrey, so the meet up happened quite easily. If it had not, I may never have made it off that bus alive. Toh La spoke wonderful English, was interested in getting to know us, was very friendly and very experienced with showing tourists around Siem Reap. We immediately felt comfortable with him (not to mention he was wearing Pharrell-type sunglasses and told us we could call him that if we wished).
On the way to the hotel, we explained that since Jeff and I were in SR for less than two days, we wanted to make the most of what was left of this day. Pharrell suggested that we drop our stuff quickly and head to the floating villages for sunset. This was something that we had read about in our guidebook and definitely wanted to do, so we agreed. Ten second showers later, we grabbed road beers (which warm quickly and are hard to drink over the bumpy roads - I wouldn't suggest it) and tukked the twenty minutes to the villages.
Our first warning that we were no longer in Kansas was that each entrance ticket cost twenty dollars. But, since we were already there and wanted to see the villages, we acquiesced. I countered the cost by thinking about all the money we save by living in PP, and patted myself on the back for all the cheap things we partake in at home. We were then handed over to a private tour guide named Pad, who was dressed up in a cheap-looking uniform that was trying to look culturally authentic (think: It's a Small World at Disney). He had on a typical wide-brimmed straw hat, a silken collared shirt and navy blue high water pants. He spoke English well, which turned out to be the case all around SR (in stark contrast to PP). Our boat, which seated about ten, was empty except for the four of us and took off almost as soon as we sat down. Trying to make it for sunset, we headed off for the villages as Pad talked about the varying depths of the water. During the dry season, the water that our boat was riding over plummets down to 1 meter deep. He pointed out two rows of stilted homes facing each other in the distance. The water, currently nine meters deep as it is the rainy season, covered the road between the houses entirely. The homes were still standing due to their height, and they were the only indicators that there was a road there at all. Pad told us that once the water receded, cars and tuk-tuk could drive on this currently-submerged road all the way out to the lake. On both sides of us, trees were visible only by their top-most leaves. My initial fears about the Disney-like quality of this trip were eased as I settled back, enjoyed the view and listened to this amazing information.
However, once the more pertinent cultural and structural information was disseminated, Pad turned on his "guide voice" and began to stop the boat for our "photo opportunities." Instead of organically choosing spots of interest to photograph, we were told to get into group pictures that he would take here and there. Meanwhile, larger boats full of 20+ people were cruising by, leading me to wonder if we could have chosen a cheaper ticket on a larger, less personal boat. This option had not been presented to us, but we certainly would have selected it if it had been. Furthermore, we had been told upon purchase that our ticket would allow us access to the floating village as a whole, including the lake, the floating school, crocodiles, the fish farm and the floating forest. When I inquired about the crocodiles, Pad assured me that there were no crocs in the water. I was half-relieved not to have to worry about hanging over the boat too far and losing a limb, but my anxiety that we were being scammed ratcheted up once more.
We passed through the village with floating homes and businesses on either side. There were people of all ages using boats, floating planks and even metal cooking pots to get from dwelling to dwelling. We observed them carrying on their normal activities, hanging laundry out to dry, laying in a hammock, fixing a roof. We passed the floating police station, which was nothing more than a normal looking building. What was interesting was imagining how police-related activities might play out in this context (car chases, ambulance runs, evidence gathering, etc.). At this point I began asking Pad about the floating school, since I had experienced mixed feelings since hearing about it. Being at Liger has helped me understand that tourist visitors at different schools or orphanages can do more harm than good. Students get attached to visitors very quickly and can become genuinely upset at their departure. Furthermore, children should never be used as a means of fundraising, and in this case I felt like the floating school was being touted as a must-see product.
Pad told me that there are 120 kids in the lower school, but there are two buildings, totaling almost 400 students. He said these kids had "no mother, no father," but that we would have a chance to stop and buy food to bring to them. Sure enough, minutes later we pulled up alongside a small store, which looked like any other Cambodian mini-mart except that it was bobbing up and down in the water. The store's owner led us through the crowded room, pointing out big ticket items that we should buy for the students. A 50kg bag of rice, much like the ones we use at Liger, was quoted at $70, while a bag of 40 dum-dum lollipops was $5. I was conflicted about showing up at the school with nothing to offer, but felt like we were being taken advantage of because we were white. Feeling scammed, Jeff began to explain to the owner that we teach at a similar school serving underprivileged Cambodian students and that he knew that this bag of rice was nowhere near that expensive. Even after our protests, when I contemplated buying the lollys just to have something to hand out, the man urged us to buy the Ramen noodles or the rice because it is "healthier for the kids." At that we conferred and agreed that we did not feel comfortable purchasing anything. We thanked the man and got back in the boat. As a last ditch sales pitch, the owner told us that the reason why he was selling the rice at such a high price is because last year's rice harvest in Cambodia was the worst one in history. False. We later found out that the Liger chef buys his 50kg bags of rice for $35. Right on.
After leaving the store rather awkwardly, we were brought to the fish market. We should have known what we were getting into with two biologists on board. As soon as we pulled up, we were accosted by a mother and her young child, who pulled up next to us in a canoe. The child had a lethargic boa constrictor hung around his neck and asked us to pay one dollar to touch it. What?!
We ignored them, got off the boat and entered into the floating village final frontier. I will keep it brief. There were large fish tanks sunken into the ground teeming with catfish - when Pad half-heartedly threw some cereal in to them, they thrashed around for all to see. Next on the docket was the croc pit. Yes, the crocs that we were promised were lying in a shallow pit strewn with candy wrappers and beer cans, laying almost on top of each another. Pad told us with a smile that no, these were not local crocs, they were actually shipped in from Thailand. If we so chose, we could have any one of them turned into a bag or a pair of shoes. He pointed in the direction of an interior room, which we later found to contain even more dirty fish tanks and entire croc skins. He was right about the bags, as disturbing as that is.
Needless to say, we were spooked. We felt scammed and uncomfortable and I personally was ready to leave. The rooftop sunset did little to relieve these emotions. Our last stop was our last photo opportunity, occurring at the lake at the end of the river before we turned back. As we headed back, I realized that we did not stop at the school. I mentioned it to Jeff and we pondered it for a little bit, getting even more uncomfortable as our minds raced. Finally, Jeff asked Pad why we did not stop at the school when we had been told upon purchasing the ticket that we would be taken there. Pad's immediate first response was an angry, frustrated: "If you tell me you want to go school, I take you school. You no tell me!" Shocked, I backed off, feeling almost sick. After a few minutes, we tried again to explain that we felt like we were not given the chance to see the school because we didn't buy them anything. What unfolded turned out to be a really difficult conversation in which Jeff and I tried to explain how we felt and Pad exclaimed how he was not on salary and how his meager income (around $30/month) was decimated by having to rent the boat and costume from the new owners each day. He culminated by asking us, "you think I am happy?!" It was seriously intense and I felt absolutely awful.
Awful about the tourist trap we had unknowingly found ourselves in. Awful for the people who are made to behave like show ponies to make a dollar. Awful for Pad's misinterpretation of our unwillingness to buy overpriced items as being spoiled, selfish, cheap westerners who don't care about the hunger of orphans.
All in all it was an incredibly intense and emotional experience.
The rest of our time in SR was spent at the three temples, Angkor Wat, Temple Bayon and my personal favorite, the Jungle Temple. Since they are too impressive and gorgeous for words, below are some pictures.
Yes, Angkor Wat is the main reason why any tourist would put Cambodia on their list of travel destinations. It is a huge source of revenue for the country, and something that we know we are probably going to visit more than once. Therefore, we wanted to wait for an excuse to go with visitors, instead of by ourselves (I did grow up 30 minutes from Niagara Falls, after all...).
We woke up early to catch the bus, but when we arrived, the bus we had reservations with had not acquired enough people to run to Siem Reap. We were shuffled onto another bus without much commotion or explanation, so we hopped on. I mean why not, right? It's an adventure. And this bus didn't look like it had anything wrong with it.
What ensued was a scene from a nightmare. In the thick of it, I believe I likened it to torture methods used on prisoners in Guantanamo Bay's isolation chambers. See, about ten minutes after departure, Jeff and I were snuggled into our seats with an episode of True Blood playing on the iPad when the TV at the front of the bus exploded with light and sound. A Khmer music video began playing at top volume.
Now, I am going to play Ron Swanson here: I think you may have read that last sentence incorrectly. Perhaps you think that what I meant was that the music was pretty loud. What I actually wrote was that the "video began playing at top volume." Literally the loudest that the sound system on the bus could go. For this bus, that was ear-splittingly loud. Headphones with a movie playing did nothing but make my head spin. Actual earplugs only dulled the bass, not the prominence of the music...if you could even call it that; the actual songs were abhorrent. Cambodian music has not evolved very far beyond high-pitched moans and garish, clanging background noise. It is misery in audio form.
Let me add insult to injury by mentioning that the bus we had initially signed up for had promised to deliver us at the foot of the temple (I exaggerate) within five hours. The bus we were shunted onto stopped no less than three times (for 45 minutes apiece) and delivered us to a dirty parking lot in nowheres-ville Siem Reap in just under EIGHT hours.
We are stupid Cambodian novices and we should be ashamed of ourselves.
Since this fiasco, our hearing and sanity have returned and we have heard from others (as they chuckle at our idiocy) that because many locals cannot afford personal devices for entertainment during long rides, these music videos are favored. This knowledge does not alleviate our heart palpitations as we revisit those loathsome memories.
I shall end this tirade by telling you that on the third stop, with only an hour and a half to go before Siem Reap, Jeff stalked the bus driver as he ate his afternoon meal and bribed him with five dollars to turn the videos off for the last segment of the trip. At that point I would have offered up 100 dollars, my iPad, my sister's new wedding ring AND my actual sister. But five dollars was acceptable, so that's what we went with. It was the best five dollars we ever spent.
Now go with me back to that dirty, empty parking lot. We are gathering up our stuff while a bunch of tuk-tuk drivers are anxiously collecting at the door to woo customers into their contraptions for transport. Our Silk Island friend John had set us up with his friend Toh La, but we did not know what he looked like. Luckily, Toh La came equipped with a printed sign for Mr. Jefrey, so the meet up happened quite easily. If it had not, I may never have made it off that bus alive. Toh La spoke wonderful English, was interested in getting to know us, was very friendly and very experienced with showing tourists around Siem Reap. We immediately felt comfortable with him (not to mention he was wearing Pharrell-type sunglasses and told us we could call him that if we wished).
On the way to the hotel, we explained that since Jeff and I were in SR for less than two days, we wanted to make the most of what was left of this day. Pharrell suggested that we drop our stuff quickly and head to the floating villages for sunset. This was something that we had read about in our guidebook and definitely wanted to do, so we agreed. Ten second showers later, we grabbed road beers (which warm quickly and are hard to drink over the bumpy roads - I wouldn't suggest it) and tukked the twenty minutes to the villages.
Our first warning that we were no longer in Kansas was that each entrance ticket cost twenty dollars. But, since we were already there and wanted to see the villages, we acquiesced. I countered the cost by thinking about all the money we save by living in PP, and patted myself on the back for all the cheap things we partake in at home. We were then handed over to a private tour guide named Pad, who was dressed up in a cheap-looking uniform that was trying to look culturally authentic (think: It's a Small World at Disney). He had on a typical wide-brimmed straw hat, a silken collared shirt and navy blue high water pants. He spoke English well, which turned out to be the case all around SR (in stark contrast to PP). Our boat, which seated about ten, was empty except for the four of us and took off almost as soon as we sat down. Trying to make it for sunset, we headed off for the villages as Pad talked about the varying depths of the water. During the dry season, the water that our boat was riding over plummets down to 1 meter deep. He pointed out two rows of stilted homes facing each other in the distance. The water, currently nine meters deep as it is the rainy season, covered the road between the houses entirely. The homes were still standing due to their height, and they were the only indicators that there was a road there at all. Pad told us that once the water receded, cars and tuk-tuk could drive on this currently-submerged road all the way out to the lake. On both sides of us, trees were visible only by their top-most leaves. My initial fears about the Disney-like quality of this trip were eased as I settled back, enjoyed the view and listened to this amazing information.
However, once the more pertinent cultural and structural information was disseminated, Pad turned on his "guide voice" and began to stop the boat for our "photo opportunities." Instead of organically choosing spots of interest to photograph, we were told to get into group pictures that he would take here and there. Meanwhile, larger boats full of 20+ people were cruising by, leading me to wonder if we could have chosen a cheaper ticket on a larger, less personal boat. This option had not been presented to us, but we certainly would have selected it if it had been. Furthermore, we had been told upon purchase that our ticket would allow us access to the floating village as a whole, including the lake, the floating school, crocodiles, the fish farm and the floating forest. When I inquired about the crocodiles, Pad assured me that there were no crocs in the water. I was half-relieved not to have to worry about hanging over the boat too far and losing a limb, but my anxiety that we were being scammed ratcheted up once more.
We passed through the village with floating homes and businesses on either side. There were people of all ages using boats, floating planks and even metal cooking pots to get from dwelling to dwelling. We observed them carrying on their normal activities, hanging laundry out to dry, laying in a hammock, fixing a roof. We passed the floating police station, which was nothing more than a normal looking building. What was interesting was imagining how police-related activities might play out in this context (car chases, ambulance runs, evidence gathering, etc.). At this point I began asking Pad about the floating school, since I had experienced mixed feelings since hearing about it. Being at Liger has helped me understand that tourist visitors at different schools or orphanages can do more harm than good. Students get attached to visitors very quickly and can become genuinely upset at their departure. Furthermore, children should never be used as a means of fundraising, and in this case I felt like the floating school was being touted as a must-see product.
Pad told me that there are 120 kids in the lower school, but there are two buildings, totaling almost 400 students. He said these kids had "no mother, no father," but that we would have a chance to stop and buy food to bring to them. Sure enough, minutes later we pulled up alongside a small store, which looked like any other Cambodian mini-mart except that it was bobbing up and down in the water. The store's owner led us through the crowded room, pointing out big ticket items that we should buy for the students. A 50kg bag of rice, much like the ones we use at Liger, was quoted at $70, while a bag of 40 dum-dum lollipops was $5. I was conflicted about showing up at the school with nothing to offer, but felt like we were being taken advantage of because we were white. Feeling scammed, Jeff began to explain to the owner that we teach at a similar school serving underprivileged Cambodian students and that he knew that this bag of rice was nowhere near that expensive. Even after our protests, when I contemplated buying the lollys just to have something to hand out, the man urged us to buy the Ramen noodles or the rice because it is "healthier for the kids." At that we conferred and agreed that we did not feel comfortable purchasing anything. We thanked the man and got back in the boat. As a last ditch sales pitch, the owner told us that the reason why he was selling the rice at such a high price is because last year's rice harvest in Cambodia was the worst one in history. False. We later found out that the Liger chef buys his 50kg bags of rice for $35. Right on.
After leaving the store rather awkwardly, we were brought to the fish market. We should have known what we were getting into with two biologists on board. As soon as we pulled up, we were accosted by a mother and her young child, who pulled up next to us in a canoe. The child had a lethargic boa constrictor hung around his neck and asked us to pay one dollar to touch it. What?!
We ignored them, got off the boat and entered into the floating village final frontier. I will keep it brief. There were large fish tanks sunken into the ground teeming with catfish - when Pad half-heartedly threw some cereal in to them, they thrashed around for all to see. Next on the docket was the croc pit. Yes, the crocs that we were promised were lying in a shallow pit strewn with candy wrappers and beer cans, laying almost on top of each another. Pad told us with a smile that no, these were not local crocs, they were actually shipped in from Thailand. If we so chose, we could have any one of them turned into a bag or a pair of shoes. He pointed in the direction of an interior room, which we later found to contain even more dirty fish tanks and entire croc skins. He was right about the bags, as disturbing as that is.
Needless to say, we were spooked. We felt scammed and uncomfortable and I personally was ready to leave. The rooftop sunset did little to relieve these emotions. Our last stop was our last photo opportunity, occurring at the lake at the end of the river before we turned back. As we headed back, I realized that we did not stop at the school. I mentioned it to Jeff and we pondered it for a little bit, getting even more uncomfortable as our minds raced. Finally, Jeff asked Pad why we did not stop at the school when we had been told upon purchasing the ticket that we would be taken there. Pad's immediate first response was an angry, frustrated: "If you tell me you want to go school, I take you school. You no tell me!" Shocked, I backed off, feeling almost sick. After a few minutes, we tried again to explain that we felt like we were not given the chance to see the school because we didn't buy them anything. What unfolded turned out to be a really difficult conversation in which Jeff and I tried to explain how we felt and Pad exclaimed how he was not on salary and how his meager income (around $30/month) was decimated by having to rent the boat and costume from the new owners each day. He culminated by asking us, "you think I am happy?!" It was seriously intense and I felt absolutely awful.
Awful about the tourist trap we had unknowingly found ourselves in. Awful for the people who are made to behave like show ponies to make a dollar. Awful for Pad's misinterpretation of our unwillingness to buy overpriced items as being spoiled, selfish, cheap westerners who don't care about the hunger of orphans.
All in all it was an incredibly intense and emotional experience.
The rest of our time in SR was spent at the three temples, Angkor Wat, Temple Bayon and my personal favorite, the Jungle Temple. Since they are too impressive and gorgeous for words, below are some pictures.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Silk Island
Since the last time I updated, so much has happened that I can't possibly recount it all now. I flew back to the U.S. for my sister's wedding, saw my family and recharged my batteries with Chipotle, TJ Maxx and a comfortable bed in a hotel room with my Mom. Post celebration, Kate and her new husband Tyler joined me for the 12-hour followed by 5-hour flights back to Cambodia. We spent the first two days in and around Liger and Phnom Penh, and then took an 8-hour (are you seeing a theme here?) bus ride to Siem Reap. Overall it was a really special experience. Kate and I have never had a chance to travel together, outside of family vacations. It was also a wonderful opportunity to get to know Tyler better, which served only to reinforce my initial feelings about him - he is Kate's patient, intelligent, relaxed other half.
On our second "Phnom Penh" day, Jeff suggested that we take a ferry out to Silk Island. This is something that he had wanted to do for a while, and I had resisted because I am annoying when it comes to new things. (Interesting, right, for a girl who picked up and moved to Cambodia?) I must take this time to admit to Jeff that he was right, and that Silk Island was hands down the best day that I have spent here thus far.
Because we were catching a 7am bus from the Riverfront, and because Silk Island is close to the Riverfront, we got a Riverfront hotel, sensible folks that we are. After we checked in around one pm, we got picked up by our friend and tuk-tuk driver John. When Jeff and I first met John we were wandering past the Royal Palace for the first time and he called us over in English. We told him we did not need a ride, but he was so charming and friendly that we took his number for when we were on his side of the city. He had been clamoring to take us around to the Killing Fields and other touristy areas, but we wanted to wait until we had visitors, so we asked if he would show us around the island. He was more than happy to.
First we had to tuk to the ferry, which was about a thirty minute ride down a long, dusty highway, past huge elephants carved out of glistening wood and lots of new construction projects. When we got to the ferry, we realized that the ride couldn't be more than five minutes, as we could see Silk Island from the banks. We also realized once we got on that we were getting ripped off on our fare. Unfortunately, because we are Westerners, we sometimes are forced to pay a higher rate than locals. While the entire thing cost less than three bucks, it was more about the principle. Let's just say that a van full of people, animals, vegetables and a time travel machine probably got across for less than we did. On the ferry, which was no more than something that floats, there were lots of people going back and forth with vegetables and fruit to sell in PP. Huge, overpacked bags of bananas, mangos and bok choy hung from moto handlebars.
As soon as we got off the ferry, a pretty Cambodian woman with big cheeks (Claire), freckles and a diamond inlaid on her front tooth (common here...not a real diamond obviously), started speaking to us in English and asking us to follow her to her home to buy silk. She got on her moto and followed our tuk-tuk, calling out to us in a friendly way the whole time. John must have had a prearrangement with her, because sure enough we ended up at her house, which was one of the first ones on the main road.
As we approached her house, we saw that it was more like a little complex, which was made out of one larger house (typical Cambodian dwelling made of wood and cement on stilts about a story above the ground), two smaller wooden structures, sizable land for the chickens, puppies and children that we met, and her silk weaving loom. At once I noticed three little boys and two little girls (one of whom was dead asleep in a hammock despite the ruckus) between the ages of three and seven. They had all been at school in the morning and were now home for the remainder of the day. There were four or five different women who made up a silk selling cohort, all friends coming together to profit share. The woman who had flagged us down, Sokhim, was the "boss." Besides the kids and the women, there were at least four brand new puppies, the mother dog, lots of chickens, a cat, an adorable 6-month old baby boy, and the baby daddy. It was quite a lively scene.
Sometimes, when I have been in more "touristy" situations, where purchasing something is the end goal, I have felt taken advantage of, pestered, conned or just uneasy. None of these emotions played out at any point during this experience. I gravitated first to the baby (big shocker, I know), and before I knew it I was holding him and talking to the mother about his health, skin color, age, etc. She was so open and warm and genuine that it didn't make me feel anything but welcome. I also have to point out that all of these women spoke more English than the typical Cambodian selling something at a market. Ultimately, it was much easier to relate to them, laugh with them and get to know them.
And over the course of the hour and a half that we spent there, get to know them we did. Sokhim told me that her husband died, and that she has two kids: a 12-year-old boy and a 16-year-old girl. She is 39 herself. Her daughter goes to school in PP and takes the ferry back and forth each day. When the ladies found out that Kate and Ty were on their honeymoon, they brazenly (by Cambodian female standards) joked about buying a silk blanket for "the honeymoon bed." The atmosphere was really relaxed as John lazed in a hammock, I held the baby, we all took turns weaving some silk and talking. The silk itself was really amazing. It was truly authentic, and Sokhim told us that the piece that was on the loom currently would take at least another two months to complete. When we then looked at the finished products, including simple items like scarves and more complex two-sided blankets with tassels and embroidery, it was shocking the amount of time and patience that went into each piece. Suffice to say, we each walked away with a plastic bag bulging with silk treasures and were wholly satisfied that we had gotten a good deal. The experience alone was worth it.
After we left, John took us on a tour of the island. I swear, I have never seen so many kids in one place. The island was teeming with them. The incredibly bumpy roads were largely empty except for a bicycle or moto here or there, but every single driveway boasted a pack of kids playing, singing "HELLO!", each cuter than the last. I can only speak for myself, but I couldn't stop smiling. There were lots of interesting things that we stopped to see, including large hay stacks that were actually used to house cows, actual cow-driven plows, little huts at the water's edge that could be rented for a picnic, a raised, wooden shack full of big, pink pigs and a group of men and boys playing a bowling game that was reminiscent of bocce.
That night, exhausted but happy, we grabbed a pseudo-tapas dinner and went straight to bed.
In the works...Siem Reap and Angkor Wat.
On our second "Phnom Penh" day, Jeff suggested that we take a ferry out to Silk Island. This is something that he had wanted to do for a while, and I had resisted because I am annoying when it comes to new things. (Interesting, right, for a girl who picked up and moved to Cambodia?) I must take this time to admit to Jeff that he was right, and that Silk Island was hands down the best day that I have spent here thus far.
Because we were catching a 7am bus from the Riverfront, and because Silk Island is close to the Riverfront, we got a Riverfront hotel, sensible folks that we are. After we checked in around one pm, we got picked up by our friend and tuk-tuk driver John. When Jeff and I first met John we were wandering past the Royal Palace for the first time and he called us over in English. We told him we did not need a ride, but he was so charming and friendly that we took his number for when we were on his side of the city. He had been clamoring to take us around to the Killing Fields and other touristy areas, but we wanted to wait until we had visitors, so we asked if he would show us around the island. He was more than happy to.
First we had to tuk to the ferry, which was about a thirty minute ride down a long, dusty highway, past huge elephants carved out of glistening wood and lots of new construction projects. When we got to the ferry, we realized that the ride couldn't be more than five minutes, as we could see Silk Island from the banks. We also realized once we got on that we were getting ripped off on our fare. Unfortunately, because we are Westerners, we sometimes are forced to pay a higher rate than locals. While the entire thing cost less than three bucks, it was more about the principle. Let's just say that a van full of people, animals, vegetables and a time travel machine probably got across for less than we did. On the ferry, which was no more than something that floats, there were lots of people going back and forth with vegetables and fruit to sell in PP. Huge, overpacked bags of bananas, mangos and bok choy hung from moto handlebars.
As soon as we got off the ferry, a pretty Cambodian woman with big cheeks (Claire), freckles and a diamond inlaid on her front tooth (common here...not a real diamond obviously), started speaking to us in English and asking us to follow her to her home to buy silk. She got on her moto and followed our tuk-tuk, calling out to us in a friendly way the whole time. John must have had a prearrangement with her, because sure enough we ended up at her house, which was one of the first ones on the main road.
As we approached her house, we saw that it was more like a little complex, which was made out of one larger house (typical Cambodian dwelling made of wood and cement on stilts about a story above the ground), two smaller wooden structures, sizable land for the chickens, puppies and children that we met, and her silk weaving loom. At once I noticed three little boys and two little girls (one of whom was dead asleep in a hammock despite the ruckus) between the ages of three and seven. They had all been at school in the morning and were now home for the remainder of the day. There were four or five different women who made up a silk selling cohort, all friends coming together to profit share. The woman who had flagged us down, Sokhim, was the "boss." Besides the kids and the women, there were at least four brand new puppies, the mother dog, lots of chickens, a cat, an adorable 6-month old baby boy, and the baby daddy. It was quite a lively scene.
Sometimes, when I have been in more "touristy" situations, where purchasing something is the end goal, I have felt taken advantage of, pestered, conned or just uneasy. None of these emotions played out at any point during this experience. I gravitated first to the baby (big shocker, I know), and before I knew it I was holding him and talking to the mother about his health, skin color, age, etc. She was so open and warm and genuine that it didn't make me feel anything but welcome. I also have to point out that all of these women spoke more English than the typical Cambodian selling something at a market. Ultimately, it was much easier to relate to them, laugh with them and get to know them.
And over the course of the hour and a half that we spent there, get to know them we did. Sokhim told me that her husband died, and that she has two kids: a 12-year-old boy and a 16-year-old girl. She is 39 herself. Her daughter goes to school in PP and takes the ferry back and forth each day. When the ladies found out that Kate and Ty were on their honeymoon, they brazenly (by Cambodian female standards) joked about buying a silk blanket for "the honeymoon bed." The atmosphere was really relaxed as John lazed in a hammock, I held the baby, we all took turns weaving some silk and talking. The silk itself was really amazing. It was truly authentic, and Sokhim told us that the piece that was on the loom currently would take at least another two months to complete. When we then looked at the finished products, including simple items like scarves and more complex two-sided blankets with tassels and embroidery, it was shocking the amount of time and patience that went into each piece. Suffice to say, we each walked away with a plastic bag bulging with silk treasures and were wholly satisfied that we had gotten a good deal. The experience alone was worth it.
 |
| Sokhim on the loom |
In the works...Siem Reap and Angkor Wat.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Guest Blog - Caitlin Bell
Below is a guest blog, written by my older sister, Caitlin, who spent the last five days with us in Cambodia. She and her new husband Tyler take off for Laos tomorrow. Below is her experiences/impressions from her first two days...enjoy!
Day one of our honeymoon was "Phnom-enal" :)
We
began with a quick trip to Cool Mart down the road, which meant that
Jeff and I took a 10-minute moto ride during which we dodged bicycles,
tuk-tuks, people, and cow dung. We ran into a Liger security guard on
the way back, Darath ("da-ra"), who convinced us to stop and grab coffee.
We picked up two to go, which were about 2:1 sugar:coffee and were
served in small plastic bags with straws. After pancakes and a quick
tour of the Liger Facility where Jeff and Caroline work and live, we met
up with Mr. Da, the tuk-tuk driver whom Caro and Jeff love, and went
to the Russian Market, a partially open-air market. You can get
everything from baby clothes to marble buddhas to produce to live fish
at the market, which is laid out in a labyrinth of stalls piled high
with everything you can imagine.
After unsuccessfully trying to locate
their favorite iced coffee vendor (the self-proclaimed "best iced coffee in Phnom Penh!), we
headed to lunch at a nearby Japanese place. The food was excellent -
chicken and pork with rice, bright-green pork dumplings, passion fruit
soda.
After lunch we all got massages at a cute spa in the
ex-pat part of the city. An hour-long back and shoulder massage plus
the opportunity for a nice shower at the end cost us each $12.
Then Mr. Da drove us to the Royal Palace, where the
entire city was converging to pay their respects to the former king, who
passed away last week and whose body has been laid at the palace.
Thousands of people in white shirts and black pants with black mourning
ribbons milled around the main palace, praying over incense and sitting
on the grass.
On the other side of the square, we attracted the
attention of a monk, who spoke English pretty well. After he heard that
Caro and Jeff were living in the city, he brought over his whole family
to be introduced. We aren't sure how exactly everyone was related, but
they all may have been related symbolically instead of actually. The
monk, Piset, talked with Caro and Jeff for about 20 minutes, and by the
end, one older woman had requested that Jeff let her daughter have his
nose (she liked his long nose, which she first called a mouth), and another
had invited herself and 20 of her closest friends to Jeff and Caro's
wedding, whenever that may be.
We walked to a nearby rooftop bar, which had a great
view of the river and the palace, and watched the sunset. Then we walked
back to Mr. Da, who took us to dinner at Khmer Surin, a beautiful
restaurant that serves Cambodian food. Our dinner for four of fried
rice, steamed coconut fish, beef with pepper sauce, pad thai, cucumber
salad, and a pitcher of beer cost us $30. We tukked home to Liger
(retaining Mr. Da all day cost $20 and a can of beer) and crashed
immediately into bed.
My first impressions of Cambodia is pretty much what
I've heard from other people who have visited. The people are
incredibly, disarmingly, unapologetically friendly, and genuinely so.
Just walking back to Liger after visiting the local Buddhist pagoda
prompted a neighbor to offer us fresh coconuts, which her husband
chopped open - and her mother presented us with straws without missing a
beat. No one is pushy, except a few vendors and tuk-tuk drivers. Most
people speak enough English to get by, and everyone else is happy enough
to pantomime whatever it is you need. The food is excellent. In
establishments that are nice enough to have a tile or wood floor, the
interior is spotless. The bathrooms are cleaner than many I've seen in
the U.S. I feel extremely safe everywhere we've been, even as a
foreigner. No one gawks aggressively, just curiously. The (absolutely
beautiful) kids yell "hello!" and giggle when you respond.
That being said, this is a poor country. The roads,
even in the city, are horrible, although passable. Huge mansions sit
right next to cement huts with tin roofs, and both types abut streets
lined with trash and piles of broken concrete. Stray dogs and cats are
everywhere. No one has refrigeration, most don't have electricity, the
kids don't wear shoes, and most people sleep on the same picnic table
they conduct business on during the day out of the front of their house.
In the poorest part of the city, a strip of houses on stilts leans
out over the muddy Tonle Sap river; the homes are no more than
bamboo-plank floors held up by posts and covered with sheets of tin and
tarps weighted down with tires.
My main thought though, after Day One, is that this
country has incredible potential. The level of universal friendliness
will lend itself to a world-class tourism trade here, and with money
will hopefully come better infrastructure, healthcare, and government.
The kids and people I've met have been very smart, self-sufficient, and
entreprenurial. Caroline told me that the kids whose families can't
afford to send them to government school (which is free besides the uniform and book fees) will often just stand outside the
door and listen to the lessons. These are people who are destined to
succeed, and I think they just need the money and education to do so.
Later on today we are
heading to Silk Island to check out the famous silk trade here, and then
spending the night in the city before taking an early, 6-hour bus ride
to Siem Reap tomorrow.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Sushi Status
Friday night, after an incredibly long week of work, Jeff and I pondered dinner. We could stay in, which was the easier and more convenient choice, or we could make the trek into town. Once we realized that we were wasting time lamenting the lack of take-out options in Cambodia, and acknowledged that there was not much to eat in the house, we headed into town. By making the extra effort, we ended up eating the best meal we have had here so far.
I love sushi. Jeff loves sushi. I still have Fins on my speed dial, and we probably ate sushi at least once a week back home. We were craving sushi (pretty much a constant for me) and had not yet tried Phnom Penh's Japanese offerings, so we drove in to Kanji, a gorgeous restaurant with sushi included on their extensive menu. We were not sure what the experience would be like, but if the food was even half as well done as the ambiance and decor, we figured we would end up happy. We each ordered a drink and some edamame, which thankfully tasted just like all the other edamame we had ever eaten. Next came an avocado seafood salad that was absolutely stunning in presentation and even better in flavor. It was shaped into a sort of raised dome, and included fresh tuna, salmon and squid, as well as a tangy dressing, lettuce, avocado and other veggies. After a few bites, Jeff had already declared that this was the best meal that we had had so far in Phnom Penh. I could not argue.
Finally we ordered two rolls, including the "volcano roll," complete with "cheesy baked scallops" on top (below); at this point, we knew that we had found our new favorite place. They even brought out a delicious complimentary ginger-raspberry ice cream at the end. It was the perfect meal and exactly what we needed. I promise not to make a habit of detailing our food, as I know that its not all that interesting to read about, but I think its important to make the point that while Phnom Penh is certainly a developing city, it has a spectrum of dining options that are sometimes surprising. If you are lucky, when you come to visit, we will take you to Kanji. I may even name my firstborn Kanji...
Saturday morning, Jeff dropped me off at Java Cafe on his way to soccer practice with the kids. Java is also an art gallery and has been around for ten years, so it has a solid reputation in the ex-pat community and caters to a certain Cambodian clientele. When I arrived, the outside balcony was already full up, so I was forced to sit inside for the first time. I took my seat at a table for two in the corner of the high-ceilinged main dining room and ordered an iced coffee.
Across the room from me in the opposite corner sat two Cambodian women in their early thirties, sharing a meal and chatting loudly. At first, I didn't pay them any attention, but soon the volume of their voices forced me to look in their direction. It became clear that they placed no value on the privacy of their conversation or other peoples' right to a nice, quiet meal in a public place. Furthermore, these two women were incredibly catty and self-centered, apparently thinking themselves Cambodia's version of Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie - socialites with nothing better to talk about than events and their friends. Over the next hour, as I ate/read and before I sought refuge in my headphones, I heard detailed discussion of the many upcoming galas they were invited to -- Operation Smile, Cambodian Kid's Foundation, Cambodian Fashion Week. I learned that one of them was having a birthday party on October 27th, at which a band would play who were flying in especially for the party -- one night only. I heard the birthday girl mention her current boyfriend, perhaps even her fiancee, indicating that when they walk into a room together, "everyone looks at us and wonders: what is she with him for -- money or status? I mean he's not attractive. I am the pretty one." I also witnessed a twenty-minute long phone call in which the birthday girl harangued her friend Peter about what gift to buy a newly engaged couple whose engagement party she had been invited to but did not know very well. I mean, "what do you get for the man who has everything?!"These are truly the questions that keep her up at night.
These two were so obnoxious that I began bonding with other patrons, communally rolling our eyes in their direction and laughing at their inanity. I could continue, but you get the point. I wanted to include this experience because it speaks to the rarely seen (at least in my life), but always present upper class of Cambodia. There are people who live in this city who make millions of dollars, who live in huge mansions with security guards and who send their children away to school. These people drive luxury vehicles (or rather, their drivers do) and they wear designer clothes. I am not using this incident to declare any blanket judgement about said upper class, but just to note that they exist. It is not something that I am exposed to very often, and it was striking.
I will leave you with a gem from today. Below is a photo of a page from a student's number book. They were asked to create a word problem for the number seven as part of a larger assignment. I think it gives a little peek into the cultural differences that we are immersed in here...
I love sushi. Jeff loves sushi. I still have Fins on my speed dial, and we probably ate sushi at least once a week back home. We were craving sushi (pretty much a constant for me) and had not yet tried Phnom Penh's Japanese offerings, so we drove in to Kanji, a gorgeous restaurant with sushi included on their extensive menu. We were not sure what the experience would be like, but if the food was even half as well done as the ambiance and decor, we figured we would end up happy. We each ordered a drink and some edamame, which thankfully tasted just like all the other edamame we had ever eaten. Next came an avocado seafood salad that was absolutely stunning in presentation and even better in flavor. It was shaped into a sort of raised dome, and included fresh tuna, salmon and squid, as well as a tangy dressing, lettuce, avocado and other veggies. After a few bites, Jeff had already declared that this was the best meal that we had had so far in Phnom Penh. I could not argue.
Finally we ordered two rolls, including the "volcano roll," complete with "cheesy baked scallops" on top (below); at this point, we knew that we had found our new favorite place. They even brought out a delicious complimentary ginger-raspberry ice cream at the end. It was the perfect meal and exactly what we needed. I promise not to make a habit of detailing our food, as I know that its not all that interesting to read about, but I think its important to make the point that while Phnom Penh is certainly a developing city, it has a spectrum of dining options that are sometimes surprising. If you are lucky, when you come to visit, we will take you to Kanji. I may even name my firstborn Kanji...
Saturday morning, Jeff dropped me off at Java Cafe on his way to soccer practice with the kids. Java is also an art gallery and has been around for ten years, so it has a solid reputation in the ex-pat community and caters to a certain Cambodian clientele. When I arrived, the outside balcony was already full up, so I was forced to sit inside for the first time. I took my seat at a table for two in the corner of the high-ceilinged main dining room and ordered an iced coffee.
Across the room from me in the opposite corner sat two Cambodian women in their early thirties, sharing a meal and chatting loudly. At first, I didn't pay them any attention, but soon the volume of their voices forced me to look in their direction. It became clear that they placed no value on the privacy of their conversation or other peoples' right to a nice, quiet meal in a public place. Furthermore, these two women were incredibly catty and self-centered, apparently thinking themselves Cambodia's version of Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie - socialites with nothing better to talk about than events and their friends. Over the next hour, as I ate/read and before I sought refuge in my headphones, I heard detailed discussion of the many upcoming galas they were invited to -- Operation Smile, Cambodian Kid's Foundation, Cambodian Fashion Week. I learned that one of them was having a birthday party on October 27th, at which a band would play who were flying in especially for the party -- one night only. I heard the birthday girl mention her current boyfriend, perhaps even her fiancee, indicating that when they walk into a room together, "everyone looks at us and wonders: what is she with him for -- money or status? I mean he's not attractive. I am the pretty one." I also witnessed a twenty-minute long phone call in which the birthday girl harangued her friend Peter about what gift to buy a newly engaged couple whose engagement party she had been invited to but did not know very well. I mean, "what do you get for the man who has everything?!"These are truly the questions that keep her up at night.
These two were so obnoxious that I began bonding with other patrons, communally rolling our eyes in their direction and laughing at their inanity. I could continue, but you get the point. I wanted to include this experience because it speaks to the rarely seen (at least in my life), but always present upper class of Cambodia. There are people who live in this city who make millions of dollars, who live in huge mansions with security guards and who send their children away to school. These people drive luxury vehicles (or rather, their drivers do) and they wear designer clothes. I am not using this incident to declare any blanket judgement about said upper class, but just to note that they exist. It is not something that I am exposed to very often, and it was striking.
I will leave you with a gem from today. Below is a photo of a page from a student's number book. They were asked to create a word problem for the number seven as part of a larger assignment. I think it gives a little peek into the cultural differences that we are immersed in here...
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Kidneys and Khmer
This past weekend was quiet, suffice to say. I was off-kilter with delayed news from home regarding when my step-father Tom would be going into surgery for a long-awaited (read: two years) kidney transplant. It was on. Then it was off. Then it was back on, baring any complications. The end of this story (with many more chapters to be written, including the battle of balancing anti-rejection medication for a man with diabetes), is that he went in Monday morning with an angry, enemy kidney and came out six hours later with a friendly, healthy kidney. None of this would be possible without the Broderick family, most importantly my Mom's cousin Paul, who actually donated his kidney.
So yes, the weekend acted as a point of pause while I reflected on different possibilities, but mostly tried to keep my mind off all that was happening at home. I read two entire books. I watched three episodes of True Blood. And I had an event that was pulling me through -- a staff boat party on the Tonle Sap river, hosted by our wonderful Deputy Director, Dom and his wife, Benita.
After looking forward to this all day, Jeff and I got on the moto to head in to town around three, just when it started to rain. Let me rephrase that. The very instant I settled myself on the back of the moto and Jeff asked, "Ready?" an eerie calm fell over the sky, the clouds darkened and before we could even make it down Liger's driveway, we were pitched headfirst into a massive monsoon. The rain began to tear from the sky and the wind whipped tremendously. We pulled out of the driveway and made our first left, but after about one minute, it was clear that these were not conditions under which we could safely make it to the boat (a 30-minute drive). We pulled over on the side of the road, seeking shelter underneath a beach-sized umbrella at the edge of someone's driveway. Feeling irritated by our lack of options, since Mr. Da was already being utilized, and frustrated that we hadn't left earlier, we begrudgingly turned around and went home with our tail (moto) between our legs.
After a few hours of rain, things dried up and I started to feel stir-crazy. I asked Jeff if he wanted to go into town for dinner, since I hadn't been out since Friday night. Instead of going all the way into town, we decided to go back to the restaurant where we had our staff dinner the previous week. It is close to Liger, but still far enough away to feel like we are out. After a fifteen minute ride, we parked and walked into Chelsea restaurant. Immediately, we saw some of the waiters who had served us as a whole staff. We smiled, indicated two of us and took a seat. The restaurant has a very open layout, with a laid back atmosphere. One wall features a projection screen playing anything from a Manchester United game to the National Geographic channel to Cambodian music videos. The seating is similar to plastic lawn chairs and there are massive posters on the wall indicating drink specials. You can pretty much drink a keg of beer there for less than five bucks.
I felt the staff become a little bit frazzled when we walked in, but Jeff reassured me and ordered a beer anyway. After a few minutes, we began to wonder if they even had a menu, since the last time we came, Robert's Wonder Woman of an assistant, Navin, had pre-ordered family-style for everyone. Just then, the waiter came over with a menu and a frown on his face. I was still confused as to why there were so many staff members milling around us and smiling awkwardly. As Jeff opened the menu, it became clear. The entire menu was written in Khmer. There was no English and there were no pictures. Shit.
We first decided that we would just finish our beers and then leave to get dinner somewhere else. What we didn't know was that there were already a couple of plans that had been hatched. One involved the owner of the restaurant coming over personally, pulling up a chair and saying in broken English how sorry he was that his restaurant did not "speak English." We promised him that it was okay and tried to explain how we were at just as much fault for not having learned some Khmer. Then, the waiter we most recognized tried. The most we got from him was, "I don't speak English." Okay. But, he also indicated that we should wait ten minutes. Or at least that is what I was able to gather.
A few minutes go by and a man who had just walked in the door, who I assumed was another patron, walked up to us with his cell phone, handed it to Jeff and said, "My brother." This man had called his brother, who apparently spoke English. We were shocked that they were all going so far out of their way to help us idiots who had forgotten their Cambodian-English dictionary on the bedside table. Unfortunately, the man on the other end of the phone was not able to convey our message for fried rice and fish, much as he tried. We thanked the patron profusely. I considered just wandering around the restaurant and pointing to things on other people's tables that looked good, but before I could act, Jeff suggested that we call Navin. Of course. So, we dialed Navin, who works tirelessly and with a genuine smile on her face to oversee all projects big and small that make Liger run smoothly. She, of course, was home on a Sunday night after a week of working close to 60 hours. Navin was happy to help and laughed when she heard our predicament.
Less than thirty minutes later we were eating delicious sweet and sour fish piled with grilled peppers, onions and pineapple, spicy but crunchy morning glories and delicious vegetable fried rice. Our beers were refilled after every sip and kept icy cold*.
*Most beer in this country is served with ice. Even if you try to avoid having ice put in your beer, you pretty much can't. As soon as you drop your gaze to take a bite, those sneaky ice people are over your shoulder plopping a huge, misshapen ice cube into your beer, almost to the point of overflow. They also get a little mad if you don't drink your beer fast enough...
Jeff and I remarked during dinner on the trouble that these people had gone to when they realized that we didn't speak Khmer. We thought about what the reception is like for a Khmer speaker
in the U.S. and how many times people are treated rudely and with disrespect when they don't speak English. I would wager to say that the people who are the MOST often disrespected in this way are from an Asian country. It was just another example of how welcoming and genuinely considerate Cambodian people are.
Below are some pics of Navin -- she's pretty much the best thing ever.
So yes, the weekend acted as a point of pause while I reflected on different possibilities, but mostly tried to keep my mind off all that was happening at home. I read two entire books. I watched three episodes of True Blood. And I had an event that was pulling me through -- a staff boat party on the Tonle Sap river, hosted by our wonderful Deputy Director, Dom and his wife, Benita.
After looking forward to this all day, Jeff and I got on the moto to head in to town around three, just when it started to rain. Let me rephrase that. The very instant I settled myself on the back of the moto and Jeff asked, "Ready?" an eerie calm fell over the sky, the clouds darkened and before we could even make it down Liger's driveway, we were pitched headfirst into a massive monsoon. The rain began to tear from the sky and the wind whipped tremendously. We pulled out of the driveway and made our first left, but after about one minute, it was clear that these were not conditions under which we could safely make it to the boat (a 30-minute drive). We pulled over on the side of the road, seeking shelter underneath a beach-sized umbrella at the edge of someone's driveway. Feeling irritated by our lack of options, since Mr. Da was already being utilized, and frustrated that we hadn't left earlier, we begrudgingly turned around and went home with our tail (moto) between our legs.
After a few hours of rain, things dried up and I started to feel stir-crazy. I asked Jeff if he wanted to go into town for dinner, since I hadn't been out since Friday night. Instead of going all the way into town, we decided to go back to the restaurant where we had our staff dinner the previous week. It is close to Liger, but still far enough away to feel like we are out. After a fifteen minute ride, we parked and walked into Chelsea restaurant. Immediately, we saw some of the waiters who had served us as a whole staff. We smiled, indicated two of us and took a seat. The restaurant has a very open layout, with a laid back atmosphere. One wall features a projection screen playing anything from a Manchester United game to the National Geographic channel to Cambodian music videos. The seating is similar to plastic lawn chairs and there are massive posters on the wall indicating drink specials. You can pretty much drink a keg of beer there for less than five bucks.
I felt the staff become a little bit frazzled when we walked in, but Jeff reassured me and ordered a beer anyway. After a few minutes, we began to wonder if they even had a menu, since the last time we came, Robert's Wonder Woman of an assistant, Navin, had pre-ordered family-style for everyone. Just then, the waiter came over with a menu and a frown on his face. I was still confused as to why there were so many staff members milling around us and smiling awkwardly. As Jeff opened the menu, it became clear. The entire menu was written in Khmer. There was no English and there were no pictures. Shit.
We first decided that we would just finish our beers and then leave to get dinner somewhere else. What we didn't know was that there were already a couple of plans that had been hatched. One involved the owner of the restaurant coming over personally, pulling up a chair and saying in broken English how sorry he was that his restaurant did not "speak English." We promised him that it was okay and tried to explain how we were at just as much fault for not having learned some Khmer. Then, the waiter we most recognized tried. The most we got from him was, "I don't speak English." Okay. But, he also indicated that we should wait ten minutes. Or at least that is what I was able to gather.
A few minutes go by and a man who had just walked in the door, who I assumed was another patron, walked up to us with his cell phone, handed it to Jeff and said, "My brother." This man had called his brother, who apparently spoke English. We were shocked that they were all going so far out of their way to help us idiots who had forgotten their Cambodian-English dictionary on the bedside table. Unfortunately, the man on the other end of the phone was not able to convey our message for fried rice and fish, much as he tried. We thanked the patron profusely. I considered just wandering around the restaurant and pointing to things on other people's tables that looked good, but before I could act, Jeff suggested that we call Navin. Of course. So, we dialed Navin, who works tirelessly and with a genuine smile on her face to oversee all projects big and small that make Liger run smoothly. She, of course, was home on a Sunday night after a week of working close to 60 hours. Navin was happy to help and laughed when she heard our predicament.
Less than thirty minutes later we were eating delicious sweet and sour fish piled with grilled peppers, onions and pineapple, spicy but crunchy morning glories and delicious vegetable fried rice. Our beers were refilled after every sip and kept icy cold*.
*Most beer in this country is served with ice. Even if you try to avoid having ice put in your beer, you pretty much can't. As soon as you drop your gaze to take a bite, those sneaky ice people are over your shoulder plopping a huge, misshapen ice cube into your beer, almost to the point of overflow. They also get a little mad if you don't drink your beer fast enough...
Jeff and I remarked during dinner on the trouble that these people had gone to when they realized that we didn't speak Khmer. We thought about what the reception is like for a Khmer speaker
in the U.S. and how many times people are treated rudely and with disrespect when they don't speak English. I would wager to say that the people who are the MOST often disrespected in this way are from an Asian country. It was just another example of how welcoming and genuinely considerate Cambodian people are.
Below are some pics of Navin -- she's pretty much the best thing ever.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
"This day was a mile long."
I apologize for the lapse in scintillating blog posts. Perhaps it is our new schedule, the increase in workload, or that things are becoming more normal and less exciting to report. Two and a half weeks ago, after collecting some baseline math data, my fellow teacher/planner/scheduler/idea-hatcher Jess and I realized that our students, while incredibly bright, have a lot of holes in their math skills. We devised a three-week Numeracy Bootcamp to get them up to speed, and have been carrying it out for the past two weeks. One of the major reasons for our students' faulty math foundations is that the curriculum at their former government schools simply did not expose them to certain math skills and strategies. The second reason is that they have all been taught for the past three to five years in one way, and one way only -- drill and repeat. Our students are all coming from schools where the teacher writes content on the chalkboard, everyone copies it down into their notebooks and then they set about memorizing the notes to recite back the following day. Our kids have never been encouraged to think outside the box, question, inquire, experiment, make mistakes, get creative, problem-solve, etc. We have to practice and support their development of these new skills, or in some cases "relearn" them, before they can begin to absorb pertinent content in the way we are teaching it. Two weeks of bootcamp following a solid month of "Camp Liger" was a bit of a rude awakening, but our students have risen to the challenge and we have done everything we can to make sure that they are having fun.
This week, I focused on number patterns and oral language, and one of my activities involved showing the kids four different YouTube videos of number songs. The one that I can't get out of my head depicts three male cartoon characters (one with an afro), dancing under a disco ball as they count down from 20. It's pretty awesome. Then, I asked the students to create their own number songs. The only constraints were that their songs had to have lyrics, props (visuals) and dance moves. Below is a video of one group making a number song to the tune of Marc Anthony's "Rain Over Me." Other kids changed the words to B-I-N-G-O (Liger's morning meeting constant) into: "There was a teacher who loved to count and this is what she sai-aid: five-ten-fifteen-twenty, five-ten-fifteen-twenty, five-ten-fifteen-twenty and she loved teaching num-bers." Most of our kids are still at the stage where they lean on what is known and comfortable and don't want to take too many risks for fear of being "wrong," but they are making progress. I can't wait to give them a song-writing challenge six months from now and see how much they've grown.
Other than bootcamp, Jeff and I have spent a lot of evenings and weekends taking the bike around town and into the city, and are starting to feel more comfortable and knowledgeable about Phnom Penh. On the 15th, our dear volunteer-intern, Clara, who is a former student of Robert's from the Western Academy of Beijing, departed for her second year at Cambridge (no big deal) after working as an instrumental part of our team for six weeks. The overseas staff threw her a surprise dinner at a gorgeous, quite fancy restaurant, where we dined on Khmer cuisine (duck curry...yum) at a table next to a beautiful, fish-filled pool. The next night the entire Liger staff, from the cleaning staff to the kitchen staff to the house parents, went out to a local restaurant to celebrate Trevor's successful visit. Robert, Dom and some of the other admin staff stayed behind with the kids. When the students heard that Robert and Dom would be acting as "House Daddy" for the night, Puthea, the little guy that I posted about earlier, exclaimed something to the effect of: "How the hell can I stay with Dom all night, he only speaks English?!" Both nights were examples of Liger's dedication to and sincere appreciation for its staff.
Meanwhile, rainy season has arrived. We flew into this country expecting constant rain, and when it didn't come, outside of a few hasty showers, the rain relocated to the back burner of our minds. Well, it recently exploded to the forefront in the form of streets so flooded kids are swimming, torrential downpours lasting four hours and dark, ominous clouds that swallow up blue skies in minutes. Sometimes the rain is an excuse to have another beer, like last night when we stayed at one of our favorite bars from 4pm-8pm, but other times it is a pain in the ass. A wet helmet has become the norm, and we have started carrying both of our raincoats in the moto at all times.
With a little less than three weeks until I leave Cambodia for LA and Caitlin and Tyler's wedding, I am starting to get excited, but also nervous about what the jet-lagged, emotional experience will amount to. Lucky for me, Caitlin and Tyler are coming back with me after the wedding to begin their Southeast Asian honeymoon.
I leave you with a photo (care of Nica) of two of my favs, Puthea and Niron.
Each week so far we have identified four major numeracy skills that our students need to work on. For example, last week Jess taught the part-whole relationship/fractions, Jeff taught word problems and Jo did standard and non-standard units of measurement. We took a lot of data the first week and this past week we did more facilitated teaching. However, as I said, we are trying to make it fun. We also have three straight hours in the morning and two straight hours after lunch, all with the same twelve students, so there is a lot of time to play games and take breaks as well. I have happily introduced my groups to "Around the World" and "Heads Up, Seven Up," two games that most of my peers will remember from elementary school. Below is a video of one of my favorite and most exuberant students playing "Around the World," trying desperately to beat his opponent. Some kids were so intent on being the first one to answer that they were clutching their hearts, falling to the ground when they lost, bursting into hysterical laughter and dripping sweat down their temples. I swear that they were all having fun, and Nica, JoJo and I were dying laughing watching them tweak out.
This week, I focused on number patterns and oral language, and one of my activities involved showing the kids four different YouTube videos of number songs. The one that I can't get out of my head depicts three male cartoon characters (one with an afro), dancing under a disco ball as they count down from 20. It's pretty awesome. Then, I asked the students to create their own number songs. The only constraints were that their songs had to have lyrics, props (visuals) and dance moves. Below is a video of one group making a number song to the tune of Marc Anthony's "Rain Over Me." Other kids changed the words to B-I-N-G-O (Liger's morning meeting constant) into: "There was a teacher who loved to count and this is what she sai-aid: five-ten-fifteen-twenty, five-ten-fifteen-twenty, five-ten-fifteen-twenty and she loved teaching num-bers." Most of our kids are still at the stage where they lean on what is known and comfortable and don't want to take too many risks for fear of being "wrong," but they are making progress. I can't wait to give them a song-writing challenge six months from now and see how much they've grown.
Other than bootcamp, Jeff and I have spent a lot of evenings and weekends taking the bike around town and into the city, and are starting to feel more comfortable and knowledgeable about Phnom Penh. On the 15th, our dear volunteer-intern, Clara, who is a former student of Robert's from the Western Academy of Beijing, departed for her second year at Cambridge (no big deal) after working as an instrumental part of our team for six weeks. The overseas staff threw her a surprise dinner at a gorgeous, quite fancy restaurant, where we dined on Khmer cuisine (duck curry...yum) at a table next to a beautiful, fish-filled pool. The next night the entire Liger staff, from the cleaning staff to the kitchen staff to the house parents, went out to a local restaurant to celebrate Trevor's successful visit. Robert, Dom and some of the other admin staff stayed behind with the kids. When the students heard that Robert and Dom would be acting as "House Daddy" for the night, Puthea, the little guy that I posted about earlier, exclaimed something to the effect of: "How the hell can I stay with Dom all night, he only speaks English?!" Both nights were examples of Liger's dedication to and sincere appreciation for its staff.
Meanwhile, rainy season has arrived. We flew into this country expecting constant rain, and when it didn't come, outside of a few hasty showers, the rain relocated to the back burner of our minds. Well, it recently exploded to the forefront in the form of streets so flooded kids are swimming, torrential downpours lasting four hours and dark, ominous clouds that swallow up blue skies in minutes. Sometimes the rain is an excuse to have another beer, like last night when we stayed at one of our favorite bars from 4pm-8pm, but other times it is a pain in the ass. A wet helmet has become the norm, and we have started carrying both of our raincoats in the moto at all times.
With a little less than three weeks until I leave Cambodia for LA and Caitlin and Tyler's wedding, I am starting to get excited, but also nervous about what the jet-lagged, emotional experience will amount to. Lucky for me, Caitlin and Tyler are coming back with me after the wedding to begin their Southeast Asian honeymoon.
I leave you with a photo (care of Nica) of two of my favs, Puthea and Niron.
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