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.

Sokhim on the loom

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.

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.

 

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...

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.

"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.

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.

Red Light, Green Light

"This is a society where red means go and green means go faster." -Robert Landau

I want to start out with that quote, which Robert said during a meeting last week, as it applies to so many aspects of our experiences here in Cambodia. But, before I get all layered and nuanced, it directly applies to the fact that WE RENTED A MOTO! Yes, this past Saturday, Jeff and I tukked into town with Mr. Da, made a depressing stop at the bank (each international transfer runs $35) and then stopped off at Lucky Lucky, the local moto dealer. In all of six minutes, we had paid $40 cash, filled out the most basic of forms and chosen helmets. With a few quick tips from the owner's son ("you probably get pulled over, two dollar; one liter petrol in the tank, get more right away; good luck!"), Jeff gunned the engine and was off. For his first ride, I was much more comfortable on the pleather seats of Mr. Da's tuk-tuk, and it was good for Jeff to have someone to pace with.

Wait, did I mention our bike is bright pink?

Sunday involved living out the Liger core values, moto-style:

1. Determination: Before we even arrived at our first destination on Sunday morning, we were stopped by three police officers for being white while going down an unmarked one-way street (everyone here drives both ways on all streets, all the time). We tried to interact with said officers in the way we have been told to -- turn off the bike, give them three bucks and be on your way. However, these men chose to give us a hard time, asking us where we are from, taking turns speaking so we never knew who to address, refusing to simply take the money and then pocketing Jeff's temporary license. But, determined to be patient and polite, Jeff eventually sprang us by paying 10,000 riels ($2.50) and got his license back. I, on the other hand, secretly flipped them off each subsequent time we passed their location (which was more than once because we were getting the lay of the land...).

2. Ingenuity: We were stopped dead in traffic on the road back to Liger due to a gigantic truck towing a massive cement beam. The beam was not lying flat on a bed, but rather was suspended about five feet above the ground at an angle. There were probably thirty other motos and a handful of cars within spitting distance, all of whom were trying to squeeze themselves around the truck's girth, mildly unconcerned with being decimated in the process. No one had successfully managed. We scooted up the right lane, inches from the beam on our left and inches from the storefronts on our right.

Jeff: "We could just go under.." (indicating the cement beam)
Me: "We are NOT going under that!"
Old Cambodian Man in front: "mumblemumblesmilepoint"
Jeff: "Doing it!"
Caroline: "Okaaaayahhhhhhh!"
Jeff: "How you like me now?! Like a BOSS!" (speeding onto the open road, past astonished Cambodian faces)

3. Appreciation: The ability to get on the bike and go off-campus without waiting for a tuk-tuk or coordinating with colleagues is the most liberating and empowering feeling we have had since coming here. The knowledge that we tackled something together that neither of us had done before and were ultimately successful is even better. From our helmet hair to our swerving to avoid idiot chickens, we have enjoyed it all so far. 

4. Optimism: That being said (Mom(s) and Dad(s)), we are being very careful and planfully optimistic. The moto does not actually go that fast, and we wear helmets at all times. We were able to successfully drive home a blender (in its box), the two of us and a backpack full of groceries without incident, so we are moving toward being authentic Khmer drivers. When I get scared, I just look to my right and make note of the toddler standing up on the seat behind its father, who is driving and talking on his phone, cigarette clenched between his lips (father, not toddler); then, I look to my left and see the infant actually asleep in its mother's arms, sandwiched between its older brother and sister. I tell myself: "Caro, if a baby can do it, you can do it."

That's all for now, as Jeff has just pulled some piping hot arancini out of the oven (three dipping sauces none the less).

If you want to see some fabulous photos of last week's Technology Challenges (fifty kids - a stack of newspaper - make a fashion show), check out my friend/fellow teacher Peter's blog: Bright Uprising

Throw Away Payday (and other mishaps)

Enjoy video of this evening's rain storm taken from our balcony - windows open, fresh air blowing, frogs chorusing...

I want to start with a disclaimer that what follows is NOT a criticism of Liger, my colleagues, the tuk-tuk drivers we know or anything/one else. It is simply the first time that I am detailing a series of frustrating or annoying events since arriving in Cambodia. I hope everyone understands.

1. Our students have lice. They probably had lice when they arrived here three weeks ago and will definitely have lice again, but we did not notice the lice until Thursday morning. Our "lice policy," if it can be called that simply states that students with lice shall be "excluded." Since we have just started this school, there was no lice shampoo on campus, no protocol for communication about said lice among staff and no real understanding among staff about what to do with students when they were found to have lice. I did not know there was a lice issue until I overheard some of a mid-morning meeting I was not even a part of. Hmmm...

Flash forward to a series of events in which all pillow cases and sheets must be stripped and washed. But we only have one set of bedding per student. Whoops -- let's order more! We have no shampoo, so let's send someone off for it. Word comes back that the shampoo must stay in the hair for four hours. We scramble to cancel afternoon rotation and plan a mass shampoo and rinse. When the shampoo arrives, the label indicates it must stay in the hair for TWENTY-four hours. Scratch that, back to afternoon rotations. Shampooing begins after school.

Now imagine: five house parents, two teachers (me and Jess), the nurse and his assistant and about 35 students in varying stages of disarray. The male students are shirtless with multi-colored pajama pants on (some with Angry Birds, others with swimming turtles). The female students are sorrowfully casting their hair bands/clips/bows/ties into big tubs of disinfectant. With nine adults shampooing (highly toxic, so plastic gloves and hospital masks were employed), each child sat on a desk chair underneath House 1. The shampoo was poured into dry hair and massaged in thoroughly for about five minutes, depending on the length of hair (Jess and I tried to do mostly boys...haha) and then combed out. We had to be very careful that none of the shampoo got into eyes, nose or mouth, and then the combs and towels were dropped into disinfectant as well. The chairs got the fire hose later on.

It took an hour and a half. After school. In the heat. Impromptu de-lousing shall henceforth be listed on my resume.

2. Friday night Jeff and I wanted to go to dinner in the city. He picked out an Italian spot near the Riverside and we called Mr. Da to come for us at 6:15. Around 5pm, I get a call from a colleague. She wants to know if we have a tuk-tuk coming and if so, at what time. Other overseas staff are looking for rides. Two plan to moto in, but one more is looking for a ride. We agree that we can take him into the city. Then, Jeff and I start thinking that if we have two destinations among us, Mr. Da is going to feel responsible for picking both of us up on the return trip to Liger.

Sidenote: Previously, we had an incident where Mr. Da made two trips into the city from Liger -- one with the interns at 4:30 and one with Jeff and me at 6. We did not know that he had brought the interns in before us, and thought we had him for the night. We ended up calling Mr. Da for our return trip at 8, only to have to stop and pick up four other Liger staff at their restaurant as well.

We all need to make accommodations, and traveling together is certainly convenient, but on this particular night Jeff and I just really needed a break. Therefore, Jeff went down to speak to the other staff member about perhaps getting another tuk-tuk back from dinner to avoid the situation we ran into last time. He agreed that it was a good idea.

6:15 rolls around and three overseas staff plus Jeff and I get in the tuk-tuk. I expected one. I recover, no problem. Five minutes later, without warning, Mr. Da pulls over on the side of our route and picks up his sister and her baby. This time the person is female, not sumo-wrestly and male, thank goodness, because that makes seven in the tuk-tuk. I am crunched onto Jeff's lap and Mr. Da's sisters' grocery bags are at our feet, making it very hard to sit comfortably. Also, to self-pityingly add insult to injury, I am now facing in the opposite direction that we are traveling, which always makes me feel sick.

We stop once to let off two friends at dinner. We stop a second time to let off another friend. I achingly retire to the seat next to sister and baby, and Jeff and I begin to wonder if we are also going to drop them off before arriving at our destination.

Indeed, we are.

So, after an hour and a half and three stops (actually four, since we couldn't find our restaurant the first time around and needed wireless to check the address), we arrive at our destination. I had been told that nothing in Cambodia is straightforward, but this really took the cake.

3. Final anecdote. On a positive note, we got paid on Friday! Woo! Jeff and I asked Mr. Da to stop at our bank's ATM on the way home to check balances and take out some cash. I took out $200 and happily got into the tuk-tuk to head home. Do you already have an ominous feeling building in your stomach? Well, you should.

We make it onto the road before our turn onto Liger lane (so about 90% of the way there), and Jeff starts to get the money together to pay Mr. Da. He has $13 and wants to give him $15. I look in my wallet and grab my singles and my riels. As I hand Jeff the two dollars that he asked for, he exclaims, "Wait, what?!" and I turn to see money flying out of the back of the tuk-tuk.

It is nine-thirty pm. On a dirt road in Cambodia. And our money has just flown away.

I wildly search my wallet, praying that it was riels, but both my hundred dollar bills are gone.

Jeff yells for Mr. Da to stop (poor Mr. Da) and turn around. I am already frantic, sure that we are never going to find them and am vacillating between tears and hysterical laughter. Mr. Da turns around and we try to communicate what has happened. The tuk-tuk had continued driving for about 45 seconds after the money was lost.

He starts back in the opposite direction and there is no one else on the road, which is unlikely and a miracle, because they would probably have driven by and caused the money to fly even further away.

"THERE IT IS!," I shriek, pointing. I see a bill, folded in half, laying in the middle of the street. Unbelievable. I leap out of the tuk-tuk and immediately three barking dogs lunge at me from the dark yard of someone's house. I scream and jump back in, but Mr. Da snatches up the money.

"Ooohhh. Hundred," he says solemnly, passing it back to me. "Yes. One more. Back." I point.

We keep driving and lo and behold, there is the second hundred. Folded in half, laying in the middle of the road. I let Mr. Da grab it. I also tell him that I have never loved anyone as much as I love him. Then I cry.

"Take us back to Liger." "Liger?" "LIGER."

4. I leave you with two pictures of one of my favorite kiddos: Puthea. He reminds me of Josh Rosenbloom, who I love. The first is from play practice and the second is from the bus back from soccer this morning.