Happy New Year to everyone. We've a lot to be grateful for in 2018 and a lot to worry about. Let's hope many of our 2018 worries are put right in 2019.
Yesterday I had words with myself and I told myself I should pick up my feet and move on. I had a great day, feeling normal, which is a change from the past two weeks. I borrowed a Lee Child mystery from my Canadian library and I finished it in one day, just lounging on the sofa with my feet up in the air. At the end of the day I'd done around 200 steps on my Fitbit. Since starting this flu business I've taken a perverse satisfaction in seeing that I have hardly walked on any of the days. Here am I, being fed with all sorts of information about the importance of walking 10,000 steps a day - and feeling guilty if I didn't. Now here I am, after two weeks of doing around 200 steps a day, and I feel fine and I'm still here. It's amazing how these gadgets can get me to feel guilty.
I thought I was having a good day yesterday but then the phone rang and Oudom (12) phoned from across the street to say he was coming over for the night. I went over to get him and Ponleu (10) decided to join us. Earlier, Ponleu had made a Lego model of the Titanic and so, to keep him quiet, I told him to make a bridge for the ship to sail under. Because he's Ponleu, it had to be authentic; he wanted a bridge that workers could go up to fix things. It kept breaking and he kept on crying when it happened. Then Oudom got in on the act and started yelling at him to stop being a baby. I yelled at Oudom to tell him to stop being so nasty. It's exhausting.
When we finally made it to bed I gave them an ear full in the hope that it would settle them down. It didn't. Oudom said he'd developed a cold and would be under the clothes snorting all night. This morning, before we even got up, I had to listen to a talk on the Gross National Product of various countries and what the Khmer soldiers were doing in the Congo. I had to be specific about which Congo we were talking about. I wish I could fob Oudom off with any old answer but I can't as he researches everything. Before breakfast he'd put some toothpaste in the microwave to see what would happen. He's a menace.
Kheng, has prided himself on being a fast motorbike rider. In the old days it was fun sitting behind him while he wove in and out of the traffic. Last night he came off his bike and ended up in hospital where the doctors inserted metal rods. I went to visit him but he'd checked out; most likely to a cheaper place. I hope he's learned his lesson.
I've had a "bread" day today. Because of the lads, I had to do toast and peanut butter for breakfast. For lunch I had bread and cheese. At 4pm I was presented with a baguette stuffed with a variety of meats and this evening I went with Vuth and family for a pizza meal. Oudom was very upset when he was told he'd have to contribute. He's a meat and fruit eater so he ate hardly anything but he had to pay the same amount as Samnang who eats like a horse. Oudom said it's unfair to invite people for a meal and to then tell them they have to pay. He has a point.
Cheata (4) was quite upset when someone had a birthday in the restaurant and the staff sang Happy Birthday; she thought it should be for her. To add insult to injury, when she got outside she let her huge balloon go and it floated away into the blue yonder. I was put in charge of two of the lads to make sure they got home safely. This is no mean task as Ponleu does vanishing tricks. The streets were throbbing with loud music and dancing crowds. I'm glad peace and quiet prevails at this end of the street.
I don't like being negative about people but I have to say I am not impressed with my downstairs neighbours. My Mother would say they were mucky and I tend to agree. They've been in the apartment for three months and the broom and mop have never moved. I can see into their kitchen when I use the staircase and it's littered with mouse droppings. The creatures have now started to come to my place which I'm objecting to. I've got everything edible in the fridge but I'm finding their droppings everywhere. I've borrowed a humane, life trap that's quite ingenious. The mouse sees some food at one end and he jumps on a little platform which tips him into the first area where he can have a happy nibble. Then he goes into another section with a one-way pathway to find more food, and there he's stuck until I get up in the morning to deal with him. What I would really like to do is release the darn thing back into the downstairs apartment but if I do that he may come back upstairs. I'll sleep on it!
Monday, 31 December 2018
Monday, 24 December 2018
On the road again
I've no internet connection where I am at the moment so I've no idea when I last wrote anything. Anyway, it would be all doom and gloom so I've decided to ignore those days completely and act as if they didn't exist. I had thought of writing something with a funereal black border just to brighten things up a bit. Or I could issue a warming, "Please don't read it you are already depressed."
I'm continuing to flop and I'm getting quite used to it. I spent two night in Battambang but I didn't do any moving around to see people; instead, please people came to see me. I saw Chamnan and his daughter Tin Tin and he ate with us. He gave her a large plate of rice and then he put a small amount in a bowl with a few bits of other foods. I asked if that was all he wanted and he said, "It's for my wife; she comes and has a meal with me every day." He misses her deeply and in a way I'm glad he's working seven days a week as it keeps his mind occupied. It's hard on Tin Tin too as she has to spent her free weekend days at the university where her dad works.
I was on the bus to Siem Reap on Saturday and it took over 4 hours. The driver was in no hurry and I never saw his speedometer needle go over 50kph. All those sitting by the window had closed the curtains so it was a bit like riding in a tunnel. I was sitting just two rows back behind the driver so I could see through the windscreen. Unfortunately, in my line of view was a young European lady who scrolled up and down her iPhone for the entire four hours. It drove me nuts. She never looked through the windows, never spoke to her boyfriend. Why she's here I've no idea.
Syden always makes my life complicated when I arrive in Siem Reap. This time he told me to get off at a gas station and he'd pick me up. He said he knew all of them so it didn't matter which one I chose. I eventually got up and asked the driver to stop but he wouldn't as he said he was only three kms from the bus station. In the end it was Rina, Syden's brother, who picked me up. I took him for a meal and decided to order a pizza. It cost only $8 whereas a pizza at a pizza restaurant can cost over $20. I was therefore shocked when it arrived and it was enormous. I had one slice and gave the rest to Rina to take home. That was the only food I'd had all day. I normally "eat to live" but this is getting ridiculous.
Sunday I set off for Kampong Thom to be with Boroith and his family and that's where I am now. Across the road from their home they have a small restaurant where people can sit in small areas with hammocks overlooking the river; it's so peaceful and quiet. The family start life at 5.30am when the two boys get up to prepare for school, and their day ends around 8pm when people stop coming for snacks. I arrived in the early afternoon and my arrival always follows a routine. My bag is taken up stairs and I'm told to change and relax. The family give up their bed for me which is always an embarrassment. The bed is piled high with pillows of every shape and size and there's a garland of jasmine flowers to make the room smell nicely. Later on I'll be told to sit down and have nails cut - which is another one of my must do activities whilst I'm here.
It's now Monday. At the moment, Seyneth, Boroith's wife, is preparing the vegetables for the snacks. A huge bucket of oyster mushrooms, large bags of cucumbers and the purple flower of the water hyacinth. It's a noxious weed that clogs up all the waterways, and nothing eats it - except humans who like the flowers. People come for bread fried in a tamarind sauce, or baby egg - the eggs that have a fertilised duckling inside. I can eat them if everything stays inside the shell and I can just scoop it out but, if they pour it out onto the plate, I'm finished - it just looks too awful to eat. They eat it with a tiny mint-like leaf that mother and daughter will spend ages removing from the stem. Everything here takes time but people act as if they have all day. The clientele are mostly young folk who've been coming for years; I'm sure many use it as a place to avoid school. Some call to buy the odd cigarette and have a chat.
I didn't feel like eating so I was happy when Boroith suggested an orange. Now, if you want a delicious orange you have to come here. He peeled one, broke it into segments and came back with it in a bowl. I took one bite and nearly threw up - he'd brought it back Cambodian style covered in salt. They can't eat their fruit without salt and chilli; I told him he had to give me another one and to leave it alone this time.
I have a watch that needs no battery because it operates from the movement of my wrist. It has stopped. I can't be moving enough. I'm told I'm skinny, which should be a compliment, but my skin is too ancient to deal with the flesh reduction. I'm started to look like those people who've gone through liposuction with all that skin dangling around. I think I'm going to have to visit a local pagoda. They all have statues representing the four stages of life so I'm going to take a look at the third stage to remind me what it's supposed to be like. I'll skip the final stage for now.
I'm continuing to flop and I'm getting quite used to it. I spent two night in Battambang but I didn't do any moving around to see people; instead, please people came to see me. I saw Chamnan and his daughter Tin Tin and he ate with us. He gave her a large plate of rice and then he put a small amount in a bowl with a few bits of other foods. I asked if that was all he wanted and he said, "It's for my wife; she comes and has a meal with me every day." He misses her deeply and in a way I'm glad he's working seven days a week as it keeps his mind occupied. It's hard on Tin Tin too as she has to spent her free weekend days at the university where her dad works.
I was on the bus to Siem Reap on Saturday and it took over 4 hours. The driver was in no hurry and I never saw his speedometer needle go over 50kph. All those sitting by the window had closed the curtains so it was a bit like riding in a tunnel. I was sitting just two rows back behind the driver so I could see through the windscreen. Unfortunately, in my line of view was a young European lady who scrolled up and down her iPhone for the entire four hours. It drove me nuts. She never looked through the windows, never spoke to her boyfriend. Why she's here I've no idea.
Syden always makes my life complicated when I arrive in Siem Reap. This time he told me to get off at a gas station and he'd pick me up. He said he knew all of them so it didn't matter which one I chose. I eventually got up and asked the driver to stop but he wouldn't as he said he was only three kms from the bus station. In the end it was Rina, Syden's brother, who picked me up. I took him for a meal and decided to order a pizza. It cost only $8 whereas a pizza at a pizza restaurant can cost over $20. I was therefore shocked when it arrived and it was enormous. I had one slice and gave the rest to Rina to take home. That was the only food I'd had all day. I normally "eat to live" but this is getting ridiculous.
Sunday I set off for Kampong Thom to be with Boroith and his family and that's where I am now. Across the road from their home they have a small restaurant where people can sit in small areas with hammocks overlooking the river; it's so peaceful and quiet. The family start life at 5.30am when the two boys get up to prepare for school, and their day ends around 8pm when people stop coming for snacks. I arrived in the early afternoon and my arrival always follows a routine. My bag is taken up stairs and I'm told to change and relax. The family give up their bed for me which is always an embarrassment. The bed is piled high with pillows of every shape and size and there's a garland of jasmine flowers to make the room smell nicely. Later on I'll be told to sit down and have nails cut - which is another one of my must do activities whilst I'm here.
It's now Monday. At the moment, Seyneth, Boroith's wife, is preparing the vegetables for the snacks. A huge bucket of oyster mushrooms, large bags of cucumbers and the purple flower of the water hyacinth. It's a noxious weed that clogs up all the waterways, and nothing eats it - except humans who like the flowers. People come for bread fried in a tamarind sauce, or baby egg - the eggs that have a fertilised duckling inside. I can eat them if everything stays inside the shell and I can just scoop it out but, if they pour it out onto the plate, I'm finished - it just looks too awful to eat. They eat it with a tiny mint-like leaf that mother and daughter will spend ages removing from the stem. Everything here takes time but people act as if they have all day. The clientele are mostly young folk who've been coming for years; I'm sure many use it as a place to avoid school. Some call to buy the odd cigarette and have a chat.
I didn't feel like eating so I was happy when Boroith suggested an orange. Now, if you want a delicious orange you have to come here. He peeled one, broke it into segments and came back with it in a bowl. I took one bite and nearly threw up - he'd brought it back Cambodian style covered in salt. They can't eat their fruit without salt and chilli; I told him he had to give me another one and to leave it alone this time.
I have a watch that needs no battery because it operates from the movement of my wrist. It has stopped. I can't be moving enough. I'm told I'm skinny, which should be a compliment, but my skin is too ancient to deal with the flesh reduction. I'm started to look like those people who've gone through liposuction with all that skin dangling around. I think I'm going to have to visit a local pagoda. They all have statues representing the four stages of life so I'm going to take a look at the third stage to remind me what it's supposed to be like. I'll skip the final stage for now.
Friday, 21 December 2018
On the road to Battambang
If there's one bus ride I can't stand any more it's the 7 hour, 300km, drive to Battambang. If I can have a ride in a car I'll take it any time. Thornin said he was going back home to Battambang so I said I'd go with him. This means being flexible; it started off being the 17th, then the 19th and finally the 20th. He said we'd leave at 9am, which can also mean anything. This time three of us went off for an ordinary coffee, which means in a regular Khmer restaurant. I can't stand an early morning coffee so I had iced lemon tea. We finally got on the road at 11am.
During the war years we had a coffee called "Camp Coffee". It was in a bottle, like a sauce bottle. I don't know why, but the label on the bottle had a very elegant Indian soldier complete with fancy turban. In fact it looked a lot like a brown sauce as it was a liquid coffee. Later on we discovered it was made of chicory and other things but for us it was coffee. We only had it at night time made with milk and it was lovely. I know coffee aficionados will poo-poo such a coffee but, for those of us who didn't know any better, it was lovely.
When I moved around with Action for Life the rule for me was, "You carry your own suitcase". Because I was generally the senior member of the group, I was showered with gifts when we visited colleges, schools etc. I didn't want anything so the young members would hang around waiting for me to give things away. It was especially true of the young African ladies who wanted anything they could give away as gifts back home. Their suitcases already weighed a ton and they got heavier as the months went by. I flatly refused to help them.
Nowadays, I use the same rule for myself. So when I'm on the road in Cambodia I just have a small backpack. I live on the 3rd floor, 38 steps up from the street, so that's also an incentive to pack light. My first suitcase experience was in 1953 when I went on a school trip. We didn't possess a suitcase so I borrowed one from Jock Kane, our next door neighbour. He was a leading light in the UK Communist Party and had been to China. The suitcase he loaned me came from China and was made from leather that was almost a centimetre thick. It weight a tonne but it was a suitcase and different to anyone else's. I felt quite please with myself.
Dad was also a Communist and I often listened in to over the wall discussions. I remember Jock saying, "People are worried about China attacking other countries with their army. They don't have to; they'll take over the world economically." That was in 1953. Jock was a wise man.
We stopped for lunch on the way but I had little energy for food. I said I'd just have a bowl of soup. He asked and I was told, "They don't have soup." I ended up with fried noodles which I didn't really want. Later Thornin's food arrived, including a bit bowl of soup. I said, "Why couldn't I have soup?" "This is not breakfast soup," he said. "Who said anything about wanting breakfast soup," was my response. Sometimes I wonder what language to communicate in.
I was glad we were driving on a Thursday because it meant there were no wedding marquees taking over half the road. It's strange how the couples asked a fortune teller for an auspicious day for a wedding and he always manages to pick a Friday and a Saturday. In Vietnam the parents often go to a fortune teller to make sure the marriage is a good idea; to make sure it is, the couple try to get to the fortune teller (with a gift) before the parents do. Funerals tend to be more spread out through the week and we did see a few on the way. I've warned my friends here that I don't want the big dragon carriage with everyone wearing black and white.
Thornin got me some Panadol tablets for my fever. I said he might as well get me a box of them. He came with an enormous box with 120 in it; I said I'd be dead before I was able to use them all. They've been helping but I still don't have much energy. I actually enjoy having an excuse to flop on my bed so I have to watch I don't do it for too long.
I met three nice young ladies from Denmark who are living at Thornin's family home. They are here as volunteers to work at an orphanage for three months. Three or four groups a year come so it's extra income for the family.
During the war years we had a coffee called "Camp Coffee". It was in a bottle, like a sauce bottle. I don't know why, but the label on the bottle had a very elegant Indian soldier complete with fancy turban. In fact it looked a lot like a brown sauce as it was a liquid coffee. Later on we discovered it was made of chicory and other things but for us it was coffee. We only had it at night time made with milk and it was lovely. I know coffee aficionados will poo-poo such a coffee but, for those of us who didn't know any better, it was lovely.
When I moved around with Action for Life the rule for me was, "You carry your own suitcase". Because I was generally the senior member of the group, I was showered with gifts when we visited colleges, schools etc. I didn't want anything so the young members would hang around waiting for me to give things away. It was especially true of the young African ladies who wanted anything they could give away as gifts back home. Their suitcases already weighed a ton and they got heavier as the months went by. I flatly refused to help them.
Nowadays, I use the same rule for myself. So when I'm on the road in Cambodia I just have a small backpack. I live on the 3rd floor, 38 steps up from the street, so that's also an incentive to pack light. My first suitcase experience was in 1953 when I went on a school trip. We didn't possess a suitcase so I borrowed one from Jock Kane, our next door neighbour. He was a leading light in the UK Communist Party and had been to China. The suitcase he loaned me came from China and was made from leather that was almost a centimetre thick. It weight a tonne but it was a suitcase and different to anyone else's. I felt quite please with myself.
Dad was also a Communist and I often listened in to over the wall discussions. I remember Jock saying, "People are worried about China attacking other countries with their army. They don't have to; they'll take over the world economically." That was in 1953. Jock was a wise man.
We stopped for lunch on the way but I had little energy for food. I said I'd just have a bowl of soup. He asked and I was told, "They don't have soup." I ended up with fried noodles which I didn't really want. Later Thornin's food arrived, including a bit bowl of soup. I said, "Why couldn't I have soup?" "This is not breakfast soup," he said. "Who said anything about wanting breakfast soup," was my response. Sometimes I wonder what language to communicate in.
I was glad we were driving on a Thursday because it meant there were no wedding marquees taking over half the road. It's strange how the couples asked a fortune teller for an auspicious day for a wedding and he always manages to pick a Friday and a Saturday. In Vietnam the parents often go to a fortune teller to make sure the marriage is a good idea; to make sure it is, the couple try to get to the fortune teller (with a gift) before the parents do. Funerals tend to be more spread out through the week and we did see a few on the way. I've warned my friends here that I don't want the big dragon carriage with everyone wearing black and white.
Thornin got me some Panadol tablets for my fever. I said he might as well get me a box of them. He came with an enormous box with 120 in it; I said I'd be dead before I was able to use them all. They've been helping but I still don't have much energy. I actually enjoy having an excuse to flop on my bed so I have to watch I don't do it for too long.
I met three nice young ladies from Denmark who are living at Thornin's family home. They are here as volunteers to work at an orphanage for three months. Three or four groups a year come so it's extra income for the family.
Wednesday, 19 December 2018
A sauna to die for - it nearly did kill me.
Hidden behind all these cheery, positive words is a droopy body that just wants to crawl into a hole and stay there until the new year. I was so glad that Canadian friends have written to me describing the same symptoms I have had. I don't mind a cold with the runny nose business but this aching muscles and joints really isn't my cup of tea. I didn't go to the doctor because I'd end up with a hole in my arm and a saline drip, with some sort of cocktail, and a bag full of antibiotics.
The plastic pipe carrying my washing machine water to the drain developed a crack. Cina's dad, the great fixer of all things, came over with a new pipe. The diameter was too small to go over the outlet. "Do you have a toaster?", he said. I know he likes my bread but it was mid morning and he'd have had his breakfast. I got the toaster. He turned it on and held the plastic pipe over it - he was softening the pipe so it would fit. Now if that was anywhere else, the plumber would have said, "Sorry, I'll have to go back to the shop to get another pipe." It worked.
About 10 years ago, when I was in Mumbai with the Action for Life programme, the youth group decided to organise a thank you party for the locals who had helped us. Our hosts said they'd be away so we had to organise it ourselves. The youth rearranged the formal furniture into conversation areas, they put cushions on the floor so people could sit on them. Leading up to the apartment they put paper footprints on the stairs and flags of their countries on the door with words of welcome in many languages. I was a bit worried as posh Indian people are super proper when it comes to their homes, but they were away so no problem.
Dilip arrived with a bag of uncooked chicken legs. He was an engineer who'd lived in the USA, made a lot of money and owned a huge school. He was Hindu and he'd met a guru who'd converted him to vegetarianism so it was nice of him to think about buying chicken for us. He asked where the oven was. I told him it was an Indian kitchen so no oven. Then he asked for the microwave. I said there wasn't one. So where is the toaster, he said. The toaster was ancient and temperamental; when the bread was ready you had to stand with your hands ready to catch the slices as they went flying into the air. Dilip had the bright idea of cooking the chicken legs across the top of the toaster - I had a heart attack - fat dripped down into the toaster. It was quite successful but what a mess.
In the midst of our party, the hosts came back and what a palaver they made about the furniture being moved. We had to apologise! The next day I scrubbed and scrubbed and finally gave up and bought a new toaster. I don't want to have to write another toaster story.
Back to Phnom Penh! In the afternoon I went with friends to a coffee shop. I really don't enjoy coffee so I had a hot chocolate. Is it the same everywhere - hot doesn't mean hot? I drank it in one gulp. Thornin ordered a meal and he asked us to taste the gravy. If it had been in the Dead Sea we'd have floated in it. It was awful. He mentioned it to the waiter who came back to tell us that it came pre-cooked, in plastic bags from Thailand. These trendy places are comfortable but often street food is more trustworthy.
The conversation then turned to a sauna. They said a sauna would do me good. We paid our six dollars entrance fee, picked up our shorts and towel and set off to enjoy ourselves. I didn't fancy a massage but was told I'd have to sit and wait for them for an hour so I might as well join them. It was all included in the six dollars anyway. I lay there with my eyes closed, tolerating all the squeezing and stretching. "Are you OK?", the lady kept asking. Meanwhile the other two are chatting a mile a minute to their ladies who were giggling their heads off; I presume Vuth was telling some of his Cambodian jokes that he thinks are so funny he has to repeat them to make sure you understand. I'm always glad when it's over.
I keep telling Cambodians they should move to Canada if they want to be cold. I was so cold the lady covered me with two towels. I was happy to head for the 43C hot pool for a while, a quick dip in the 19C pool and then off to the dry sauna and steam. The steam was so hot I ended up with blotchy skin. I was quite pleased with myself, seeing the plump, middle aged men. Maybe they thought the steam would slim them down a bit. I don't carry my phone when I go to these places but the locals do; an attendant carried around a stack of phones and, when one rang, he had to hunt for the owner. One man said, "Hello, how old are you?" I've got used to it and it's quite nice when they sound surprised.
I came home exhausted and went straight to bed.
The plastic pipe carrying my washing machine water to the drain developed a crack. Cina's dad, the great fixer of all things, came over with a new pipe. The diameter was too small to go over the outlet. "Do you have a toaster?", he said. I know he likes my bread but it was mid morning and he'd have had his breakfast. I got the toaster. He turned it on and held the plastic pipe over it - he was softening the pipe so it would fit. Now if that was anywhere else, the plumber would have said, "Sorry, I'll have to go back to the shop to get another pipe." It worked.
About 10 years ago, when I was in Mumbai with the Action for Life programme, the youth group decided to organise a thank you party for the locals who had helped us. Our hosts said they'd be away so we had to organise it ourselves. The youth rearranged the formal furniture into conversation areas, they put cushions on the floor so people could sit on them. Leading up to the apartment they put paper footprints on the stairs and flags of their countries on the door with words of welcome in many languages. I was a bit worried as posh Indian people are super proper when it comes to their homes, but they were away so no problem.
Dilip arrived with a bag of uncooked chicken legs. He was an engineer who'd lived in the USA, made a lot of money and owned a huge school. He was Hindu and he'd met a guru who'd converted him to vegetarianism so it was nice of him to think about buying chicken for us. He asked where the oven was. I told him it was an Indian kitchen so no oven. Then he asked for the microwave. I said there wasn't one. So where is the toaster, he said. The toaster was ancient and temperamental; when the bread was ready you had to stand with your hands ready to catch the slices as they went flying into the air. Dilip had the bright idea of cooking the chicken legs across the top of the toaster - I had a heart attack - fat dripped down into the toaster. It was quite successful but what a mess.
In the midst of our party, the hosts came back and what a palaver they made about the furniture being moved. We had to apologise! The next day I scrubbed and scrubbed and finally gave up and bought a new toaster. I don't want to have to write another toaster story.
Back to Phnom Penh! In the afternoon I went with friends to a coffee shop. I really don't enjoy coffee so I had a hot chocolate. Is it the same everywhere - hot doesn't mean hot? I drank it in one gulp. Thornin ordered a meal and he asked us to taste the gravy. If it had been in the Dead Sea we'd have floated in it. It was awful. He mentioned it to the waiter who came back to tell us that it came pre-cooked, in plastic bags from Thailand. These trendy places are comfortable but often street food is more trustworthy.
The conversation then turned to a sauna. They said a sauna would do me good. We paid our six dollars entrance fee, picked up our shorts and towel and set off to enjoy ourselves. I didn't fancy a massage but was told I'd have to sit and wait for them for an hour so I might as well join them. It was all included in the six dollars anyway. I lay there with my eyes closed, tolerating all the squeezing and stretching. "Are you OK?", the lady kept asking. Meanwhile the other two are chatting a mile a minute to their ladies who were giggling their heads off; I presume Vuth was telling some of his Cambodian jokes that he thinks are so funny he has to repeat them to make sure you understand. I'm always glad when it's over.
I keep telling Cambodians they should move to Canada if they want to be cold. I was so cold the lady covered me with two towels. I was happy to head for the 43C hot pool for a while, a quick dip in the 19C pool and then off to the dry sauna and steam. The steam was so hot I ended up with blotchy skin. I was quite pleased with myself, seeing the plump, middle aged men. Maybe they thought the steam would slim them down a bit. I don't carry my phone when I go to these places but the locals do; an attendant carried around a stack of phones and, when one rang, he had to hunt for the owner. One man said, "Hello, how old are you?" I've got used to it and it's quite nice when they sound surprised.
I came home exhausted and went straight to bed.
Tuesday, 18 December 2018
Not my best day
I was in bed last night at around 9.30pm as I knew something was going on with my health. My head was light and I was heating up. It was bad enough before going to bed but it got even worse once I got into bed. It reminded me of that song by Elvis Presley - “It was a night oh oh what a night it was, it really was such a night.” I’ve an idea he was talking about something other than aching bones.
I couldn't lay still for more than a couple of minutes; my arms and thighs ached and I didn't know what to do with them. I tossed and turned for hours and finally, at 4.30am, I decided to get up to search for some medicine. I avoid illness like the plague so I have very little in the way of medicine. I do have lots of Tiger Balm, which is the cure all, in this part of the world. All this did was make me smell nicely. I rummaged around in a drawer and found a container of Advil. They were left over from a much earlier dental programme but I was desperate. They expired in 2008 but who cares! They are the capsule kind and so, in Cambodia's heat, they'd stuck together in a clump so I had to work at loosening them. I finally got two and within minutes the bone ache had disappeared. So that tells me something about expiry dates.
Among the ordinary Cambodian population, aching bones means Dengue Fever. This is caused by a daytime mosquito and there's no cure. It's commonly called "Bone Breaker" because every bone in the body aches. It lasts three weeks and, if you are a healthy person, you get over it. If you are a malnourished child from a village you bleed internally and you die.
A few years back I visited the Kantha Bopha Hospital in Siem Reap, which was started by a Swiss medical doctor. Every day thousands of people line up with their sick children, usually suffering from Dengue, Malaria or Malnutrition. Dr. Richter had a public lecture every week on the work he was doing and when I was there he talked about SARS. He said, "SARS was in every newspaper in the West, people were terrified, but only a handful of people died. At the same time, I was treating thousands of children each day with Dengue Fever and not a word of it was in the world's newspapers. That's because SARS was called a "Western" disease whereas Dengue Fever was from the East."
As soon as my joints started to ache I began to think the worst but, after taking the ancient Advil, the ache died down and I could get to sleep. I woke up when the phone rang - it was Vuth inviting me for lunch; it was 11.30am. I staggered over the road but wasn't in the mood for eating. As usual, the table was covered with food - a pork meatball soup, a beef dish with pumpkin shoots, a papaya salad with shrimp. There's no point in saying, "No thank you", because a spoonful is placed on my plate with the words, "This is good". I was also give a bottle of mother's soya drink which is made by adding a special medicinal leaf, plus a 'special' coconut. Vuth has a friend who owns a farm with 2,000 coconut trees. I didn't realise that coconuts are produced all year round. She does no work; people come to pick the coconut and a man collects the money. I also learned that the coconuts grown in Cambodian are for drinking; if people want to cook with coconut they use ones imported from Thailand and Vietnam. That's because the local coconuts are super sweet and really delicious.
After lunch I cancelled my English class, went home and crawled into bed. I finally got up at 6pm so I've missed the entire day. The world managed to go on without me so that's a relief. I pried apart a couple of the Advil tablets and I'm feeling better. I cancelled a meeting with Thornin and he said he wasn't feeling well either, so there's something going around. I left Canada before the flu shot was available but here in Cambodia it might not have made a difference anyway. Now I'm going to have a cup of tea and pretend I'm in the land of the living.
I couldn't lay still for more than a couple of minutes; my arms and thighs ached and I didn't know what to do with them. I tossed and turned for hours and finally, at 4.30am, I decided to get up to search for some medicine. I avoid illness like the plague so I have very little in the way of medicine. I do have lots of Tiger Balm, which is the cure all, in this part of the world. All this did was make me smell nicely. I rummaged around in a drawer and found a container of Advil. They were left over from a much earlier dental programme but I was desperate. They expired in 2008 but who cares! They are the capsule kind and so, in Cambodia's heat, they'd stuck together in a clump so I had to work at loosening them. I finally got two and within minutes the bone ache had disappeared. So that tells me something about expiry dates.
Among the ordinary Cambodian population, aching bones means Dengue Fever. This is caused by a daytime mosquito and there's no cure. It's commonly called "Bone Breaker" because every bone in the body aches. It lasts three weeks and, if you are a healthy person, you get over it. If you are a malnourished child from a village you bleed internally and you die.
A few years back I visited the Kantha Bopha Hospital in Siem Reap, which was started by a Swiss medical doctor. Every day thousands of people line up with their sick children, usually suffering from Dengue, Malaria or Malnutrition. Dr. Richter had a public lecture every week on the work he was doing and when I was there he talked about SARS. He said, "SARS was in every newspaper in the West, people were terrified, but only a handful of people died. At the same time, I was treating thousands of children each day with Dengue Fever and not a word of it was in the world's newspapers. That's because SARS was called a "Western" disease whereas Dengue Fever was from the East."
As soon as my joints started to ache I began to think the worst but, after taking the ancient Advil, the ache died down and I could get to sleep. I woke up when the phone rang - it was Vuth inviting me for lunch; it was 11.30am. I staggered over the road but wasn't in the mood for eating. As usual, the table was covered with food - a pork meatball soup, a beef dish with pumpkin shoots, a papaya salad with shrimp. There's no point in saying, "No thank you", because a spoonful is placed on my plate with the words, "This is good". I was also give a bottle of mother's soya drink which is made by adding a special medicinal leaf, plus a 'special' coconut. Vuth has a friend who owns a farm with 2,000 coconut trees. I didn't realise that coconuts are produced all year round. She does no work; people come to pick the coconut and a man collects the money. I also learned that the coconuts grown in Cambodian are for drinking; if people want to cook with coconut they use ones imported from Thailand and Vietnam. That's because the local coconuts are super sweet and really delicious.
After lunch I cancelled my English class, went home and crawled into bed. I finally got up at 6pm so I've missed the entire day. The world managed to go on without me so that's a relief. I pried apart a couple of the Advil tablets and I'm feeling better. I cancelled a meeting with Thornin and he said he wasn't feeling well either, so there's something going around. I left Canada before the flu shot was available but here in Cambodia it might not have made a difference anyway. Now I'm going to have a cup of tea and pretend I'm in the land of the living.
Monday, 17 December 2018
It’s nice to go away but it’s even better to come back home
In Canada I do a long distance drive once or twice a year - long distance being into BC or Saskatchewan. Here, every single drive is long - it's not the distance, it's the traffic and the roads. Battambang should be the same as driving to Calgary from
Edmonton but here its almost like driving to Saskatchewan because of the slow traffic, bad road conditions and nobody obeying the rules. Police are everywhere, catching those speeding through the villages, and that means stopping to argue and most likely pay a bribe to be able to move on.
Thornin phoned to say he'd driven to Kandal Province to meet a health department official. The man wasn't there, even though he'd made an appointment. This is what happens all the time with our work to get permission to bring in the dentists. We work in three provinces so we have to visit three provincial offices. In order to get the papers completed quickly we usually give the clerk a $10 phone card. In Cambodia we give tips before anything is done rather than afterwards. Then we have to visit the main Dept of Health in Phnom Penh. After they give their approval, and we give another phone card, we have to go to the main customs office to deal with the equipment the dentists bring in. From there we pay a visit to the airport for final approval. What's interesting is that only once has anyone at the airport asked us to open a box and, when we leave Cambodia, nobody has ever checked the boxes. It all seems such a waste of time.
Things do happen though; one year we applied to visit a prison where we'd worked before, but were refused permission. We were told by the prison governor that an NGO from another country had been to the prison and had left blood products all over the place. At another location the local policeman came and wanted to see all our passports. The next day the chief of police arrived. Our local friends panicked because there was a secret meeting going on at our location with members of the political opposition. We calmed down when he said he wanted his teeth fixed. One dentist objected as he wasn't poor but we reminded her that without these people we wouldn't get permission to treat the poor.
I had my English class in the afternoon. Srun eats his lunch at the office after class, whereas Phearak eats it before coming to class. Phearak yawns his head off throughout the entire hour whereas Srun doesn't. Lunch always includes meat and fish so I've told Phearak it's sapping his energy and makes him sleepy. The first thing he does when he comes is to charge his phone. When I asked him to say in English what he did the evening before it's always, "I play Facebook!" He does go to university straight from work so he gets home at 8.30pm and then has to have his evening meal, so it's a long day for him. His job is messenger and he motorbikes all over town delivering tickets to customers.
I waited in vain for my cook to arrive this evening. Later I was told that he'd found out both his parents were out for the evening so he went back to doing what he likes best which is gaming on the computer. He's only 14, so no money's involved, but I'm sure he's addicted to it. I waited for an hour and then I decided I'd better cook for myself; I may fire him the next time he comes over.
I went out in the evening to buy some supplies from one of the small 24/7 shops. I have to pick and choose because they all sell different things. Tomorrow I'll visit another one as I couldn't find honey at the one I visited. Because I live in the town centre these shops sell everything for the foreigners who live in the area and for tourists. As I walked along the street, the beer ladies at one of the bars said, "Hello!" They sit outside, wearing high heels and a mini skirt, and try to attract me inside. I feel sorry for them because their salary is a commission on how many beers they sell.
I've mentioned the sidewalks before, which are covered with cars and motorbikes. Outside my alley there's a clothing shop that takes up the street corner. They've gone one step further and have tiled the pavement and put up a permanent awning, which literally doubles the size of their shop. This is done by all sorts of restaurants too but nobody in officialdom seems to bother about it.
I have my neighbours the Durian I'd bought for them. They said "Thank you". It always fascinated me the way people reacted in Asia if you give them something. They are polite but they don't go overboard like we do in the West; "Oh you shouldn't have done. What a lovely gift" etc. I was glad to get rid of the package as the smell of the fruit was starting to leak out of the styrofoam package plus two plastic bags.
I started to feel a fever coming on so it's off to be early.
Edmonton but here its almost like driving to Saskatchewan because of the slow traffic, bad road conditions and nobody obeying the rules. Police are everywhere, catching those speeding through the villages, and that means stopping to argue and most likely pay a bribe to be able to move on.
Thornin phoned to say he'd driven to Kandal Province to meet a health department official. The man wasn't there, even though he'd made an appointment. This is what happens all the time with our work to get permission to bring in the dentists. We work in three provinces so we have to visit three provincial offices. In order to get the papers completed quickly we usually give the clerk a $10 phone card. In Cambodia we give tips before anything is done rather than afterwards. Then we have to visit the main Dept of Health in Phnom Penh. After they give their approval, and we give another phone card, we have to go to the main customs office to deal with the equipment the dentists bring in. From there we pay a visit to the airport for final approval. What's interesting is that only once has anyone at the airport asked us to open a box and, when we leave Cambodia, nobody has ever checked the boxes. It all seems such a waste of time.
Things do happen though; one year we applied to visit a prison where we'd worked before, but were refused permission. We were told by the prison governor that an NGO from another country had been to the prison and had left blood products all over the place. At another location the local policeman came and wanted to see all our passports. The next day the chief of police arrived. Our local friends panicked because there was a secret meeting going on at our location with members of the political opposition. We calmed down when he said he wanted his teeth fixed. One dentist objected as he wasn't poor but we reminded her that without these people we wouldn't get permission to treat the poor.
I had my English class in the afternoon. Srun eats his lunch at the office after class, whereas Phearak eats it before coming to class. Phearak yawns his head off throughout the entire hour whereas Srun doesn't. Lunch always includes meat and fish so I've told Phearak it's sapping his energy and makes him sleepy. The first thing he does when he comes is to charge his phone. When I asked him to say in English what he did the evening before it's always, "I play Facebook!" He does go to university straight from work so he gets home at 8.30pm and then has to have his evening meal, so it's a long day for him. His job is messenger and he motorbikes all over town delivering tickets to customers.
I waited in vain for my cook to arrive this evening. Later I was told that he'd found out both his parents were out for the evening so he went back to doing what he likes best which is gaming on the computer. He's only 14, so no money's involved, but I'm sure he's addicted to it. I waited for an hour and then I decided I'd better cook for myself; I may fire him the next time he comes over.
I went out in the evening to buy some supplies from one of the small 24/7 shops. I have to pick and choose because they all sell different things. Tomorrow I'll visit another one as I couldn't find honey at the one I visited. Because I live in the town centre these shops sell everything for the foreigners who live in the area and for tourists. As I walked along the street, the beer ladies at one of the bars said, "Hello!" They sit outside, wearing high heels and a mini skirt, and try to attract me inside. I feel sorry for them because their salary is a commission on how many beers they sell.
I've mentioned the sidewalks before, which are covered with cars and motorbikes. Outside my alley there's a clothing shop that takes up the street corner. They've gone one step further and have tiled the pavement and put up a permanent awning, which literally doubles the size of their shop. This is done by all sorts of restaurants too but nobody in officialdom seems to bother about it.
I have my neighbours the Durian I'd bought for them. They said "Thank you". It always fascinated me the way people reacted in Asia if you give them something. They are polite but they don't go overboard like we do in the West; "Oh you shouldn't have done. What a lovely gift" etc. I was glad to get rid of the package as the smell of the fruit was starting to leak out of the styrofoam package plus two plastic bags.
I started to feel a fever coming on so it's off to be early.
Sunday, 16 December 2018
Bokor Mountain Trip
I was really happy yesterday evening when Thornin said we had to be downstairs to go to breakfast at 7am and then Vuth suggested 8am. I loved the idea of a longer snooze. It didn't go that way though. I hadn't realised my window was open so I had a double dose of the cockerels doing their cock-a-doodle-do from 4am. I tried to sleep but I finally got up at 6am, which happened to be around the time they stopped making their noise. Once I'd got over the shock I didn't mind as I was able to write my diary for Saturday.
While on my bed I checked my messages and found one from yesterday. It was from my friends inviting me to go out for porridge. They were meeting at 10pm! I'm glad I didn't see the message. They'd been eating almost non-stop for the entire day and now they were off again for another session.
There was nowhere on our street to have breakfast so we asked a couple of boys who were playing on their little game machine. They pointed up and down the road but kept trying to focus on the game. Thornin and Vuth had a good laugh and we walked off. "We asked them which was the best way to go and the lads said, 'It's up to you!'" We found a nice, clean place and I had bbq'd pork ribs with rice, pickles and a bowl of soup. When I get back to Canada there's no way I'd have that for breakfast but here it seems quite normal.
The road to the top of Bokor Mountain rises 1,100m from sea level. Luckily it's a good road, full of twists and turns, that was built by a company that was given a concession to develop the mountain. According to the papers they were going to spend $1 billion over 15 years to create a city. I honestly don't know how it would work unless they plan on including shops, hospitals etc as it's a long way up from sea level. As we climbed higher the weather changed and we ended up with a chilly wind blowing at gale force and clouds; one minute we were in sunshine and the next in the clouds.
The area has an interesting history, being abandoned frequently. It was a French colonial retreat for those wanting to escape the heat of the lowlands - a bit like the British in India with their hill stations. They abandoned it in the 1940s and later, in the 60s, it was re-opened. Then the Khmer Rouge war started and it was abandoned in the 1970s. During the Vietnamese invasion and occupation it was a stronghold of the Khmer Rouge and they were even occupying the place in the early 1990s.
Nowadays one can wander around looking at the abandoned shells of colonial villas. There used to be a post office but that's long gone. There's also a Christian church, a pagoda, casino, royal residence. The palace has just been converted into what may be a luxury hotel. We couldn't go inside so I peeked through the window and saw the restaurant, with immaculately laid out tables, but nobody sitting at them. The knives and spoons were, by British standards, sitting upside down on the table. That's the French way of doing things. Apparently, the French put the family coat of arms on what I'd call the back of the spoon and fork. As they say, "To each his own".
We didn't fancy eating outside in the cold and wind so we went into the enormous cafeteria. We sat at table number 64 but there were only two other tables occupied. One part of this outreach programme is to have a time of reflection with the participants. Today, because they were all university students, we asked them about their life during 2018 and what they hoped for 2019. Some spoke of having to improve relationships with their families, finding time to balance two jobs and family needs.
On our way back to Phnom Penh we stopped in a town and found a seller selling Durian - the delicious but smelly fruit. In Malaysia there are signs on the buses declaring that you can't take Durian onto the bus. I suppose it's equivalent to the Western smelly cheeses that have to be wrapped in layers of plastic to keep the smell away from sensitive noses. In Bali we'd unknowingly been standing under a Durian tree. The locals told us to move because it would be dangerous if the fruit fell and hit us. The fruit reminds me of those maces that knights of old carried - the metal ball with spikes carried on the end of a chain. The spikes on Durian are sharp and deadly. The Bali Durian weighed about 1 kg; our seller had some for sale that were over 7kg. Imagine that hitting you on the head!
My friends pointed at certain fruits that were picked up the seller, who was wearing gloves. She tapped the fruit with a knife handle and sniffed. Sellers here always want to make sure you have the best so they don't just give you any old thing. They were weighed and priced. I bought one to give to my neighbours; it weighed around 2.5kg and cost $16. They were then cut open and the seeds, coated in a thick, creamy, yellow custard were then put into containers for us to take home. Most of what we bought was consumed on the spot - around $30s worth. Cambodians love Durian. I like it but I get fed up with the constant burping I do afterwards as I can taste the fruit for hours.
There are many things I don't like about Cambodian driving and traffic. So many people get licenses without taking a driving test and I don't think anyone reads a rule book. Motorbike riders are deadly as they weave in and out at great speed. Traffic jams are endless. It wouldn't be so bad if people stayed in a straight line but they don't. Some bright person decides he doesn't want to be at the back of a long queue so he ventures forth and forms a new queue. Then a third queue forms and then a forth. When the traffic finally starts to move, it's chaos. Suddenly, the road ahead is clear and I've no idea what caused the problem.
Nowadays, we also have weddings to contend with as it's the season for them. All year round it's the season for funerals. Generally, these involve enormously long marques, stretching down the road and taking up one lane. Then you have all the cars of the guests parked everywhere. You can have 1,000 guests so it's a lot of cars and motorbikes. My chest throbbed as we drove past the stage with its 15 or more speakers stacked high and the inevitable singers and dancers.
Vuth said he felt like a taxi driver as he drove around the city dropping off his passengers; Thornin was doing the same with his carload. I didn't feel guilty as I get out when Vuth does. It was 9.30pm - 12 hours since breakfast. I was glad to be home and to be able to flop.
While on my bed I checked my messages and found one from yesterday. It was from my friends inviting me to go out for porridge. They were meeting at 10pm! I'm glad I didn't see the message. They'd been eating almost non-stop for the entire day and now they were off again for another session.
There was nowhere on our street to have breakfast so we asked a couple of boys who were playing on their little game machine. They pointed up and down the road but kept trying to focus on the game. Thornin and Vuth had a good laugh and we walked off. "We asked them which was the best way to go and the lads said, 'It's up to you!'" We found a nice, clean place and I had bbq'd pork ribs with rice, pickles and a bowl of soup. When I get back to Canada there's no way I'd have that for breakfast but here it seems quite normal.
The road to the top of Bokor Mountain rises 1,100m from sea level. Luckily it's a good road, full of twists and turns, that was built by a company that was given a concession to develop the mountain. According to the papers they were going to spend $1 billion over 15 years to create a city. I honestly don't know how it would work unless they plan on including shops, hospitals etc as it's a long way up from sea level. As we climbed higher the weather changed and we ended up with a chilly wind blowing at gale force and clouds; one minute we were in sunshine and the next in the clouds.
The area has an interesting history, being abandoned frequently. It was a French colonial retreat for those wanting to escape the heat of the lowlands - a bit like the British in India with their hill stations. They abandoned it in the 1940s and later, in the 60s, it was re-opened. Then the Khmer Rouge war started and it was abandoned in the 1970s. During the Vietnamese invasion and occupation it was a stronghold of the Khmer Rouge and they were even occupying the place in the early 1990s.
Nowadays one can wander around looking at the abandoned shells of colonial villas. There used to be a post office but that's long gone. There's also a Christian church, a pagoda, casino, royal residence. The palace has just been converted into what may be a luxury hotel. We couldn't go inside so I peeked through the window and saw the restaurant, with immaculately laid out tables, but nobody sitting at them. The knives and spoons were, by British standards, sitting upside down on the table. That's the French way of doing things. Apparently, the French put the family coat of arms on what I'd call the back of the spoon and fork. As they say, "To each his own".
We didn't fancy eating outside in the cold and wind so we went into the enormous cafeteria. We sat at table number 64 but there were only two other tables occupied. One part of this outreach programme is to have a time of reflection with the participants. Today, because they were all university students, we asked them about their life during 2018 and what they hoped for 2019. Some spoke of having to improve relationships with their families, finding time to balance two jobs and family needs.
On our way back to Phnom Penh we stopped in a town and found a seller selling Durian - the delicious but smelly fruit. In Malaysia there are signs on the buses declaring that you can't take Durian onto the bus. I suppose it's equivalent to the Western smelly cheeses that have to be wrapped in layers of plastic to keep the smell away from sensitive noses. In Bali we'd unknowingly been standing under a Durian tree. The locals told us to move because it would be dangerous if the fruit fell and hit us. The fruit reminds me of those maces that knights of old carried - the metal ball with spikes carried on the end of a chain. The spikes on Durian are sharp and deadly. The Bali Durian weighed about 1 kg; our seller had some for sale that were over 7kg. Imagine that hitting you on the head!
My friends pointed at certain fruits that were picked up the seller, who was wearing gloves. She tapped the fruit with a knife handle and sniffed. Sellers here always want to make sure you have the best so they don't just give you any old thing. They were weighed and priced. I bought one to give to my neighbours; it weighed around 2.5kg and cost $16. They were then cut open and the seeds, coated in a thick, creamy, yellow custard were then put into containers for us to take home. Most of what we bought was consumed on the spot - around $30s worth. Cambodians love Durian. I like it but I get fed up with the constant burping I do afterwards as I can taste the fruit for hours.
There are many things I don't like about Cambodian driving and traffic. So many people get licenses without taking a driving test and I don't think anyone reads a rule book. Motorbike riders are deadly as they weave in and out at great speed. Traffic jams are endless. It wouldn't be so bad if people stayed in a straight line but they don't. Some bright person decides he doesn't want to be at the back of a long queue so he ventures forth and forms a new queue. Then a third queue forms and then a forth. When the traffic finally starts to move, it's chaos. Suddenly, the road ahead is clear and I've no idea what caused the problem.
Nowadays, we also have weddings to contend with as it's the season for them. All year round it's the season for funerals. Generally, these involve enormously long marques, stretching down the road and taking up one lane. Then you have all the cars of the guests parked everywhere. You can have 1,000 guests so it's a lot of cars and motorbikes. My chest throbbed as we drove past the stage with its 15 or more speakers stacked high and the inevitable singers and dancers.
Vuth said he felt like a taxi driver as he drove around the city dropping off his passengers; Thornin was doing the same with his carload. I didn't feel guilty as I get out when Vuth does. It was 9.30pm - 12 hours since breakfast. I was glad to be home and to be able to flop.
Saturday, 15 December 2018
Off on another weekend trip
I was told to be on the roadside by 7am and we finally reached our destination at 2.30pm. What was funny was the fact that I was back in the same town I visited last weekend. This time we travelled in two cars instead of a bus, which made it a bit more comfortable, and we also avoided the terrible road we were on a week ago.
As usual, we practiced absolute flexibility and patience. One friend was late so Vuth and I went off to have noodles. We always go to the same place and I always have seafood and noodle soup with bean sprouts. I'm fascinated with the staff because they wear a plastic shield which sits in front of their mouths so they don't contaminate the food, and presumably the clients.
After breakfast we set off to meet the rest of the group. I sat for a while in the living room which had four motorbikes parked in it. People also drive their cars into the living room at night time. It's quite something, having a relaxing evening, surrounded by motorbikes and cars.
In the car I sat in my own little world while the Khmer friends chatted away. I have no idea what they were talking about but it went on non-stop for the entire trip. Along the highway we decided to stop at a roadside stall to buy some fruit - custard apple and sour sop; both delicious and juicy. Vuth and I relaxed in hammocks and had a coconut drink. I was just going to throw mine away as I'd finished the drink when Vuth told me to give it to the lady to cut it open so we could eat the flesh. It came back, cut in half, with part of the shell made into a spoon. When I'd finished I put it on the ground and a lone duck came to finish things off. He was joined by two hens and almost twenty chickens. I'd had a big breakfast so I wasn't that hungry but then boiled corn on the cob appeared.
Not long after we stopped again for lunch. This time it was by a fast flowing river. We climbed down rocky steps to a platform with mats. This kind of meal is always a challenge for me because the food is traditional Khmer. The flavours are so different to what you find in restaurants. We had a chicken soup and Thornin asked if I wanted meat or bones. The meat always has tiny bits of bone in it. I imagine the cook chases the chicken with a large knife and just whacks at it as it runs along. I can see no other reason why there are so many bits of bone. I sat by the river and tossed the skin and bone into the water. There was also a chicken and ginger dish which was too much of a challenge as Thornin had asked for it to have chillies in it. The youth had a group conversation so I headed off to a hammock and had a snooze.
From there we went to a waterfall which meant climbing 396 steps - I know because I counted them - plus a scramble when the steps ended. The base of the waterfall is a large flat area of rock which is quite slippery in places. I saw young people walking along and then going flying through the air and landing on their backside. The water's cold but the people wore clothing and had fun going under the waterfall. When we got back to the cars the group decided it was time for more food - this time it was a sugar cane juice. There were twelve of us so it was taking the lady quite a while to put the canes through the machine which squeezes out the juice. The ladies in our group decided to help her by filling containers with ice and then scooping the juice into them. It's a lovely, refreshing drink.
Around 6pm we finally checked into the hotel at Kampot but only to drop our bags and go off for yet another meal. This time we drove the 20 km to Kep which is a seaside resort. A micro-finance company was having a year end staff party. They'd hired a stage with dancers and singers and set up tables so the rest of us had free entertainment. Some of the group went off to buy food at the market as we intended to have a picnic on the beach. They came back with fresh crab, prawns, squid, fish and rice - all cooked by ladies at the market - and we settled down for a meal. I've no idea where Cambodians put their food; they are eating long after I've decided I'm full yet they are generally so skinny.
I was glad to finally get to my room. The folks decided I needed a room to myself, which is nice, but a bit quiet; I always enjoy sharing a room and having a chat before sleep. I suppose tomorrow will be another eating and moving day and I'll have to get my brain around the fact that it'll be another long drive back to Phnom Penh.
As usual, we practiced absolute flexibility and patience. One friend was late so Vuth and I went off to have noodles. We always go to the same place and I always have seafood and noodle soup with bean sprouts. I'm fascinated with the staff because they wear a plastic shield which sits in front of their mouths so they don't contaminate the food, and presumably the clients.
After breakfast we set off to meet the rest of the group. I sat for a while in the living room which had four motorbikes parked in it. People also drive their cars into the living room at night time. It's quite something, having a relaxing evening, surrounded by motorbikes and cars.
In the car I sat in my own little world while the Khmer friends chatted away. I have no idea what they were talking about but it went on non-stop for the entire trip. Along the highway we decided to stop at a roadside stall to buy some fruit - custard apple and sour sop; both delicious and juicy. Vuth and I relaxed in hammocks and had a coconut drink. I was just going to throw mine away as I'd finished the drink when Vuth told me to give it to the lady to cut it open so we could eat the flesh. It came back, cut in half, with part of the shell made into a spoon. When I'd finished I put it on the ground and a lone duck came to finish things off. He was joined by two hens and almost twenty chickens. I'd had a big breakfast so I wasn't that hungry but then boiled corn on the cob appeared.
Not long after we stopped again for lunch. This time it was by a fast flowing river. We climbed down rocky steps to a platform with mats. This kind of meal is always a challenge for me because the food is traditional Khmer. The flavours are so different to what you find in restaurants. We had a chicken soup and Thornin asked if I wanted meat or bones. The meat always has tiny bits of bone in it. I imagine the cook chases the chicken with a large knife and just whacks at it as it runs along. I can see no other reason why there are so many bits of bone. I sat by the river and tossed the skin and bone into the water. There was also a chicken and ginger dish which was too much of a challenge as Thornin had asked for it to have chillies in it. The youth had a group conversation so I headed off to a hammock and had a snooze.
From there we went to a waterfall which meant climbing 396 steps - I know because I counted them - plus a scramble when the steps ended. The base of the waterfall is a large flat area of rock which is quite slippery in places. I saw young people walking along and then going flying through the air and landing on their backside. The water's cold but the people wore clothing and had fun going under the waterfall. When we got back to the cars the group decided it was time for more food - this time it was a sugar cane juice. There were twelve of us so it was taking the lady quite a while to put the canes through the machine which squeezes out the juice. The ladies in our group decided to help her by filling containers with ice and then scooping the juice into them. It's a lovely, refreshing drink.
Around 6pm we finally checked into the hotel at Kampot but only to drop our bags and go off for yet another meal. This time we drove the 20 km to Kep which is a seaside resort. A micro-finance company was having a year end staff party. They'd hired a stage with dancers and singers and set up tables so the rest of us had free entertainment. Some of the group went off to buy food at the market as we intended to have a picnic on the beach. They came back with fresh crab, prawns, squid, fish and rice - all cooked by ladies at the market - and we settled down for a meal. I've no idea where Cambodians put their food; they are eating long after I've decided I'm full yet they are generally so skinny.
I was glad to finally get to my room. The folks decided I needed a room to myself, which is nice, but a bit quiet; I always enjoy sharing a room and having a chat before sleep. I suppose tomorrow will be another eating and moving day and I'll have to get my brain around the fact that it'll be another long drive back to Phnom Penh.
Friday, 14 December 2018
Sardines and other things
I had a fascinating morning, listening to the BBC about decaffeinated coffee. I'm not a coffee drinker so I could listen without worrying about anything. I learned that the caffeine enters the brain within two minutes of drinking a cup of coffee and that 50% of us suffer from anxiety after drinking it. It's genetic and so, if you are one of the positive people for anxiety, there's nothing you can do about it.
What's more uncomfortable is that 80% of the world's decaffeinated coffee is decaffeinated using something called methyline chloride (or something like that) which is also used to strip paint. Oh dear! Lucky Canadians can relax because in Canada it's not allowed - the process has to be done with water. The BBC went to a company in Vancouver where the work is done. The first step is to empty the jute bags and then filter out unnecessary things, such as bullets - that's right, bullets! I'm glad I'm a tea drinker.
Now one of my comfort foods is sardines; I love them on toast. Today I decided to treat myself. I bought some that had been caught in Morocco so I thought they'd be reasonably healthy. As I'm eating them, I thought I'd read the label on the box. "Warning! Contains chemicals known to California to cause birth defects, reproductive harm." Whoops! People send me a lot of funny statements and this has to be one of them. Why only California? People in the rest of the world wouldn't know about this? "Reproductive harm" presumably means men and women could have problems. Where do I go for a decent sardine?
After lunch I got over the sardines by playing my weekly game of Skip-Bo with Srun and Phearak. We have a great time and we talk in English for an hour. I still haven't figured out why Phearak always wins.
I'm reading a book called, "Lost and Found in Russia", by Susan Richards. She is fluent in Russian and has friends all over the place. It's a book about history, politics, personal relationships etc; it's wonderful. After reading today's chapters I've decided I'm way ahead of the rest of the world in understanding why Russia took Crimea. So here's a lesson for you.
I didn't know that it's been a favoured place through the years for different nations to conquer. During Greek times it was called the place where the gates of heaven and hell were located. Lucky people - they didn't have far to go no matter which place they visited. Eventually Catherine the Great decided she wanted it so she took it from the Turks. The Brits tried but failed. Dear old Khrushchev, who was a Ukrainian, decided in 1954 to give Crimea to Ukraine, but the USSR and now Russia would be able to keep their naval base in Sevastopol. The deal was that the Russians would pay rent until 2017. Ha ha!! You are saying. Russia would most likely be afraid that Ukraine wouldn't allow them to keep the base after 2017 so let's take it back. Another thing the Russians had noticed is the fact that Crimea was developing into the Hong Kong of the area - so let's take it back. I've not heard any of this via the media, and it makes a lot of sense. I learn a lot on the BBC.
Talking about Khrushchev; does anyone remember when he paid a visit to the north of England? He visited a factory and, when he met the workers, one dear lady, dressed in pinny and headscarf said, "Hello mi old fruit!" He turned to the translator, who shrugged and said, "It means ripe peach!"
I had a cooking experience with Samnang. I'd thawed some fish so he decided it should be seared with a coating of flour. Into the flour mix he put oregano, paprika and pepper. I'd already steamed potatoes and cabbage but he decided the potatoes need to be dipped in the same flour mix and fried - one little piece at a time. It took ages but it tasted good. He's always going on about Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay so I introduced him to "The two fat ladies", my two favourite chefs. He said, "they cook so slowly"! Modern male cooks seem to be moving at a mile a minute but not these dear ladies. He was horrified at the amount of oil and butter they used. Then the phone rang. It was Cina, his tiger mother, "Time for Chinese class!"
Now I'm relaxing and wondering if the other two will be here for the night after class. I'll have to kick them out in the morning as I'm off with a group of youth for the weekend.
What's more uncomfortable is that 80% of the world's decaffeinated coffee is decaffeinated using something called methyline chloride (or something like that) which is also used to strip paint. Oh dear! Lucky Canadians can relax because in Canada it's not allowed - the process has to be done with water. The BBC went to a company in Vancouver where the work is done. The first step is to empty the jute bags and then filter out unnecessary things, such as bullets - that's right, bullets! I'm glad I'm a tea drinker.
Now one of my comfort foods is sardines; I love them on toast. Today I decided to treat myself. I bought some that had been caught in Morocco so I thought they'd be reasonably healthy. As I'm eating them, I thought I'd read the label on the box. "Warning! Contains chemicals known to California to cause birth defects, reproductive harm." Whoops! People send me a lot of funny statements and this has to be one of them. Why only California? People in the rest of the world wouldn't know about this? "Reproductive harm" presumably means men and women could have problems. Where do I go for a decent sardine?
After lunch I got over the sardines by playing my weekly game of Skip-Bo with Srun and Phearak. We have a great time and we talk in English for an hour. I still haven't figured out why Phearak always wins.
I'm reading a book called, "Lost and Found in Russia", by Susan Richards. She is fluent in Russian and has friends all over the place. It's a book about history, politics, personal relationships etc; it's wonderful. After reading today's chapters I've decided I'm way ahead of the rest of the world in understanding why Russia took Crimea. So here's a lesson for you.
I didn't know that it's been a favoured place through the years for different nations to conquer. During Greek times it was called the place where the gates of heaven and hell were located. Lucky people - they didn't have far to go no matter which place they visited. Eventually Catherine the Great decided she wanted it so she took it from the Turks. The Brits tried but failed. Dear old Khrushchev, who was a Ukrainian, decided in 1954 to give Crimea to Ukraine, but the USSR and now Russia would be able to keep their naval base in Sevastopol. The deal was that the Russians would pay rent until 2017. Ha ha!! You are saying. Russia would most likely be afraid that Ukraine wouldn't allow them to keep the base after 2017 so let's take it back. Another thing the Russians had noticed is the fact that Crimea was developing into the Hong Kong of the area - so let's take it back. I've not heard any of this via the media, and it makes a lot of sense. I learn a lot on the BBC.
Talking about Khrushchev; does anyone remember when he paid a visit to the north of England? He visited a factory and, when he met the workers, one dear lady, dressed in pinny and headscarf said, "Hello mi old fruit!" He turned to the translator, who shrugged and said, "It means ripe peach!"
I had a cooking experience with Samnang. I'd thawed some fish so he decided it should be seared with a coating of flour. Into the flour mix he put oregano, paprika and pepper. I'd already steamed potatoes and cabbage but he decided the potatoes need to be dipped in the same flour mix and fried - one little piece at a time. It took ages but it tasted good. He's always going on about Jamie Oliver and Gordon Ramsay so I introduced him to "The two fat ladies", my two favourite chefs. He said, "they cook so slowly"! Modern male cooks seem to be moving at a mile a minute but not these dear ladies. He was horrified at the amount of oil and butter they used. Then the phone rang. It was Cina, his tiger mother, "Time for Chinese class!"
Now I'm relaxing and wondering if the other two will be here for the night after class. I'll have to kick them out in the morning as I'm off with a group of youth for the weekend.
Thursday, 13 December 2018
If we have “no name” brands in shops can we have a “no name” blog?
People often write and say I have an interesting life. I suppose I do, at times, just like everyone else. It's my own fault I create this image as I write about what's happening in my letters to people. I just can't see the point in writing if I have to say, "I've got nothing to write about."
This morning I listened for a whole hour to a programme on the battle against pornography in India. It is spreading on people's mobile phones and they are generally using Whatsapp, which I learnt is owned by Facebook. What makes matters worse is the fact that most of the pornography is of gang rapes of very young girls. It was depressing, listening to the programme, because I realised that nothing is going to change if it's left to the police, the judicial system and the providers such as Whatsapp. In my mind it needs a massive effort to educate the youth while they are in school and so I'm going to share the programme with teacher friends in India.
One young man, from a slum area that had seen a horrific rape in their midst, had been to a workshop where he had learnt about life and responsibilities. He's ridiculed by people, especially the older ones, but he's decided he's going to help his sisters so they can go out and play rather than work all the time. He will not allow anyone to wash his dishes and he does his own laundry. I'm always happy when I witness a liberated man.
Did you know that the word processor was invented by an American woman, Evelyn Berezin? She's just died at the age of 93. Few people know about her yet she's the one who killed the typewriter. When I left school at 14 - or should I say, when I had to leave school, I took typing at night school. We had old "sit up and beg" style Remington typewriters and, when we sat down we had to wear a large version of a baby's bib. This tied around the neck and strings at the bottom went around the typewriter. For one hour we typed and never saw our hands. The teacher had an amazing machine that could play music at different speeds and so we mostly learned to type to Strauss waltzes. I'm so grateful for Evelyn who got rid of all those carbon copies, the Gestetner machine with the horrible pear-drop smelling correcting fluid. At work I used to have to make three copies of everything I typed so it was a performance correcting each page.
I kept finding my kitchen balcony flooded. It hasn't rained so I'd no idea where the water was coming from. Now I've discovered the plastic pipe, carrying the water away from the washing machine, is broken. Plastic doesn't last long here - I suppose it's a combination of the strong sun and heat. I'm getting a new pipe but luckily I'm not like Mother with her three wash days a week.
Samnang came over to cook dinner. Most of his family are away so he decided it was a good day to skip Chinese class. Instead we talked about his parents' travel agency office. He's got excellent ideas about how changes should be made in the office and how it should be run. I told him to talk to his dad but he said I don't understand Asian parents - they listen and do nothing. I said I'd tell his parents that I had a great chat with their son and that they should talk to him. Samnang said he'd kill me if I did, so I'd better not.
This morning I listened for a whole hour to a programme on the battle against pornography in India. It is spreading on people's mobile phones and they are generally using Whatsapp, which I learnt is owned by Facebook. What makes matters worse is the fact that most of the pornography is of gang rapes of very young girls. It was depressing, listening to the programme, because I realised that nothing is going to change if it's left to the police, the judicial system and the providers such as Whatsapp. In my mind it needs a massive effort to educate the youth while they are in school and so I'm going to share the programme with teacher friends in India.
One young man, from a slum area that had seen a horrific rape in their midst, had been to a workshop where he had learnt about life and responsibilities. He's ridiculed by people, especially the older ones, but he's decided he's going to help his sisters so they can go out and play rather than work all the time. He will not allow anyone to wash his dishes and he does his own laundry. I'm always happy when I witness a liberated man.
Did you know that the word processor was invented by an American woman, Evelyn Berezin? She's just died at the age of 93. Few people know about her yet she's the one who killed the typewriter. When I left school at 14 - or should I say, when I had to leave school, I took typing at night school. We had old "sit up and beg" style Remington typewriters and, when we sat down we had to wear a large version of a baby's bib. This tied around the neck and strings at the bottom went around the typewriter. For one hour we typed and never saw our hands. The teacher had an amazing machine that could play music at different speeds and so we mostly learned to type to Strauss waltzes. I'm so grateful for Evelyn who got rid of all those carbon copies, the Gestetner machine with the horrible pear-drop smelling correcting fluid. At work I used to have to make three copies of everything I typed so it was a performance correcting each page.
I kept finding my kitchen balcony flooded. It hasn't rained so I'd no idea where the water was coming from. Now I've discovered the plastic pipe, carrying the water away from the washing machine, is broken. Plastic doesn't last long here - I suppose it's a combination of the strong sun and heat. I'm getting a new pipe but luckily I'm not like Mother with her three wash days a week.
Samnang came over to cook dinner. Most of his family are away so he decided it was a good day to skip Chinese class. Instead we talked about his parents' travel agency office. He's got excellent ideas about how changes should be made in the office and how it should be run. I told him to talk to his dad but he said I don't understand Asian parents - they listen and do nothing. I said I'd tell his parents that I had a great chat with their son and that they should talk to him. Samnang said he'd kill me if I did, so I'd better not.
Wednesday, 12 December 2018
My notes blew away
I've decided that retired people need a schedule as it creates a comfort zone. I'm even discovering that, if I get up often enough at 6.30am, I find myself jumping out of bed without muttering to myself. For most people it will seem daft for me to be marching up and down the apartment, wearing my headphones. I would prefer to walk outside but, out there, there are no pavements so I'm walking on the road. I'm having to watch the traffic, the piles of morning rubbish waiting to be collected, the parked vehicles, the potholes etc. Walking inside is more relaxing and I can listen to the BBC at the same time.
This morning there was in interesting programme about Somalia which they called Somaliland. 5,000 years ago people used the many caves, scattered across the country as they lived their nomadic lives. These caves are full of beautiful wall paintings of animals that are nowadays only found much further south in Tanzania - animals such as giraffe, zebra, lion etc. Most of the local people, who are no longer nomadic didn't even know the paintings existed. Those who study them say it's a perfect example of climate change.
It reminded me of a Natural History Field trip I did outside Kano, in Nigeria. We went to an outcrop of rocks and were able to see so many wall paintings. We asked the locals and they either knew about them but were totally disinterested or they had no idea they were there. It was interesting that all the members of the group were from outside Nigeria.
While I was in Nigeria I'd bought a block of wood, which I was told was a pillow. I couldn't imagine anyone using this small piece of wood, with a hollow in it, to sleep. On the programme I learned that they are still in use by people in Somalia to protect their Afro hairstyle which, among the men, is a sign of virility. I suppose it's an example of "Don't mess with my hair!"
There was a strong wind yesterday and a piece of paper with my notes on it flew off my desk, out through the window, over the balcony and landed in a tree. I stood and watched it for a while, wondering how to get it back, and then it floated onto the street three floors below. I dashed down my back alley, round the corner and down the street and luckily it hadn't blown any further. I didn't bother checking but, if anyone was watching, they'd think it strange seeing me running along, picking up paper and then sauntering back again.
Friends brought me bananas from their organic farm. Under normal circumstances I'd have been happy to have them but what can I do with over 30 bananas? They ripen so quickly here so I kept some and gave the rest to my neighbours.
Luc, a friend from Montreal, is doing volunteering work here. He's a retired nurse so he comes in handy living at the children's home. I don't see him that often so I asked if we could have a meal together. I suggested the Indian restaurant or a French restaurant. Luc is French speaking so I thought he could do the ordering. He chose the Indian restaurant. I've been going so often the man has a bright smile on his face when I show up - always with different people.
I went across the road to give Samnang my left over food. Oudom opened the door and, while we chatted, we saw a mouse running up the stairs. If it had been my home I'd have gone into my mouse catching mode but Oudom thought it was hilarious, especially as the mouse had to jump up the steps; Oudom said it was like a kangaroo. It had better not come over here.
This morning there was in interesting programme about Somalia which they called Somaliland. 5,000 years ago people used the many caves, scattered across the country as they lived their nomadic lives. These caves are full of beautiful wall paintings of animals that are nowadays only found much further south in Tanzania - animals such as giraffe, zebra, lion etc. Most of the local people, who are no longer nomadic didn't even know the paintings existed. Those who study them say it's a perfect example of climate change.
It reminded me of a Natural History Field trip I did outside Kano, in Nigeria. We went to an outcrop of rocks and were able to see so many wall paintings. We asked the locals and they either knew about them but were totally disinterested or they had no idea they were there. It was interesting that all the members of the group were from outside Nigeria.
While I was in Nigeria I'd bought a block of wood, which I was told was a pillow. I couldn't imagine anyone using this small piece of wood, with a hollow in it, to sleep. On the programme I learned that they are still in use by people in Somalia to protect their Afro hairstyle which, among the men, is a sign of virility. I suppose it's an example of "Don't mess with my hair!"
There was a strong wind yesterday and a piece of paper with my notes on it flew off my desk, out through the window, over the balcony and landed in a tree. I stood and watched it for a while, wondering how to get it back, and then it floated onto the street three floors below. I dashed down my back alley, round the corner and down the street and luckily it hadn't blown any further. I didn't bother checking but, if anyone was watching, they'd think it strange seeing me running along, picking up paper and then sauntering back again.
Friends brought me bananas from their organic farm. Under normal circumstances I'd have been happy to have them but what can I do with over 30 bananas? They ripen so quickly here so I kept some and gave the rest to my neighbours.
Luc, a friend from Montreal, is doing volunteering work here. He's a retired nurse so he comes in handy living at the children's home. I don't see him that often so I asked if we could have a meal together. I suggested the Indian restaurant or a French restaurant. Luc is French speaking so I thought he could do the ordering. He chose the Indian restaurant. I've been going so often the man has a bright smile on his face when I show up - always with different people.
I went across the road to give Samnang my left over food. Oudom opened the door and, while we chatted, we saw a mouse running up the stairs. If it had been my home I'd have gone into my mouse catching mode but Oudom thought it was hilarious, especially as the mouse had to jump up the steps; Oudom said it was like a kangaroo. It had better not come over here.
Tuesday, 11 December 2018
A quiet day at home
It was also a quiet night but then the phone rang. By the time I'd sorted myself out it had stopped ringing. I saw it was 5.35am. It really messes up my morning when my sleep is broken. I finally got out of bed at 7am instead of 6.30, but I'm learning not to take these kinds of events too seriously. I checked to see who it was and it's someone on Facebook, whom I don't know. Facebook can often be a pain in the neck.
While I did my exercises I listened to a BBC report on the perils of gift giving at Christmas. They also discussed the popular idea of "Secret Santa". One man said, "At the age of 50 I have no idea what to buy myself, never mind anyone else." I'm stressed out when I have to be involved in Secret Santa. There's usually the money limit, which is a good idea, but I have no idea what makes a perfect gift for someone you may not even know that well. I've also played a game that was called "Chinese Christmas"; don't ask me why. This involved buying a funny gift and wrapping it in plain paper with no names mentioned. We then chose a number. Number 1 had the choice of picking a gift and keeping it or choosing another package. I'd picked the final number so there was no choice for me other than the single gift left in the middle of the room. I wasn't impressed when I opened the package and discovered a pair of lady's black stockings.
The two young men came over for their English lesson. They've had no formal education with regard to learning English so they don't have the basics, although they do speak some simple English. Today we did past tense of verbs and what a struggle it was. In Europe, no matter what language we are speaking, the sounds are very similar. Coming to Cambodia I've realised that in English we make sounds that are almost impossible for Khmer people to pronounce, and it works the other way too. How do I teach how to say the ending of a verb when it's "ed" - is it a 't' sound, a 'd' sound or pronounced as 'ed'. For example 'watched', 'rinsed' and 'painted'. When the lads try to say 'the' I want to reach forward and grab their tongue because it just won't come out. We have a great time.
I ventured into YouTube this afternoon and discovered a film about the life of Margaret Rutherford. I loved watching her in the old days; she was priceless. What a sad life she had; her father killed his father and her mother committed suicide.
This evening I picked up my one-year visa, and my return ticket to Canada and back, which means I won't have a problem at the Canadian airports when I try to return here. Often, when I had a one-way ticket, I had to battle to get on the plane. This makes me wonder why they sell one-way tickets to places like Cambodia. One year I was refused permission to board a Chinese flight from Vancouver to Phnom Penh. What made our discussion more frustrating was the fact that the staff of the airline were Chinese Canadian and yet they refused to speak English in front of me. I asked them what I had to do and they said, "Find an internet place and book a flight from Phnom Penh." When I asked for a suggestion the lady said, "Go anywhere!" I replied that I didn't know where "anywhere" was. Finally, they got permission for me to board after speaking to the airline manager at the airport. Naturally, I've avoided that airline since then.
It's now time for my final act before bed - checking on the news. Canada's in a pickle at the moment, with the Huawei lady. Why should someone have seven passports? The USA is in a pickle too, with the Russian lawyer due to testify and General Kelly being shown the door. One of these days the story will reach a climax.
While I did my exercises I listened to a BBC report on the perils of gift giving at Christmas. They also discussed the popular idea of "Secret Santa". One man said, "At the age of 50 I have no idea what to buy myself, never mind anyone else." I'm stressed out when I have to be involved in Secret Santa. There's usually the money limit, which is a good idea, but I have no idea what makes a perfect gift for someone you may not even know that well. I've also played a game that was called "Chinese Christmas"; don't ask me why. This involved buying a funny gift and wrapping it in plain paper with no names mentioned. We then chose a number. Number 1 had the choice of picking a gift and keeping it or choosing another package. I'd picked the final number so there was no choice for me other than the single gift left in the middle of the room. I wasn't impressed when I opened the package and discovered a pair of lady's black stockings.
The two young men came over for their English lesson. They've had no formal education with regard to learning English so they don't have the basics, although they do speak some simple English. Today we did past tense of verbs and what a struggle it was. In Europe, no matter what language we are speaking, the sounds are very similar. Coming to Cambodia I've realised that in English we make sounds that are almost impossible for Khmer people to pronounce, and it works the other way too. How do I teach how to say the ending of a verb when it's "ed" - is it a 't' sound, a 'd' sound or pronounced as 'ed'. For example 'watched', 'rinsed' and 'painted'. When the lads try to say 'the' I want to reach forward and grab their tongue because it just won't come out. We have a great time.
I ventured into YouTube this afternoon and discovered a film about the life of Margaret Rutherford. I loved watching her in the old days; she was priceless. What a sad life she had; her father killed his father and her mother committed suicide.
This evening I picked up my one-year visa, and my return ticket to Canada and back, which means I won't have a problem at the Canadian airports when I try to return here. Often, when I had a one-way ticket, I had to battle to get on the plane. This makes me wonder why they sell one-way tickets to places like Cambodia. One year I was refused permission to board a Chinese flight from Vancouver to Phnom Penh. What made our discussion more frustrating was the fact that the staff of the airline were Chinese Canadian and yet they refused to speak English in front of me. I asked them what I had to do and they said, "Find an internet place and book a flight from Phnom Penh." When I asked for a suggestion the lady said, "Go anywhere!" I replied that I didn't know where "anywhere" was. Finally, they got permission for me to board after speaking to the airline manager at the airport. Naturally, I've avoided that airline since then.
It's now time for my final act before bed - checking on the news. Canada's in a pickle at the moment, with the Huawei lady. Why should someone have seven passports? The USA is in a pickle too, with the Russian lawyer due to testify and General Kelly being shown the door. One of these days the story will reach a climax.
Monday, 10 December 2018
International Human Rights Day, 10th Dec.
I enjoy travelling but it’s always nice not to be travelling and to be able to have an ordinary day. I’d been away from home since Saturday so one of the first things I had to do was to wash the floor. The colour of the water, as I threw it down the toilet, was disconcerting but there’s nothing I can do about it. I had done my laundry last night so that was one job less to do. I have to do it during the dark hours because my washing machine is outside on the balcony. In the bright sunlight I can’t see the dials so I’ve no idea how much water I’m putting in and whether I’m choosing “Fuzzy” or “Favourite” etc. I love my washing machine. In Canada we get the “old fashioned” kind with paddles that bash the clothes to and fro, or we can buy a front end loader that has no paddles and so the clothes simply flop around. For some strange reason, in Asia I can buy a machine that’s like a front end loader, in that there are no paddles, but it’s actually a top loader. It’s fascinating how jets of water pulsate and gently move the clothes around.
Vuth phoned to ask me to bring over a silk wall hanging I’ve had in my apartment. He wanted it to cover up a space in his office. I’ve seen that wall hanging since I moved into the apartment in September 2017 but it’s interesting how I don’t even notice it’s gone. In the old days I always told people my home was no longer my home once I took the pictures down. Now here I am showing absolutely no interest in what’s on the walls. Vuth said he was going to buy a new painting but I can’t say I’m bothered one way or the other.
I had lunch with the family. I always find it funny when they tell me what I have to eat with which food. This time I was told I had to eat the dried fish with a tamarind sauce. There was also a soup made from a squash with slices of omelette in it. In the fruit department there was banana, watermelon, guava and mango. The children were on holiday so the house was full of noise. I’d accidentally scraped my leg on something yesterday so little Cheata was concerned and kept getting onto her knees to check it out. She ended up getting a sticky label from a bottle and putting it on the spot. Later she put a cold compress on my forehead to make me better and I was also given a bib.
Ponleu wanted to come over so I told him, “No television, no iPhone, no iPad”. He ended up bringing his school books in a backpack. Poor lad, he’s only 9 years old but the bag weighed 10kg. This happens a lot in Asia; students have nowhere to put their books at school so they end up carrying all of them back and forth. He did his homework and then settled down to write a two page report on the weekend which is something the three boys have to do if they go somewhere. Later we went shopping - I needed bread and they wanted some snacks. Oudom wanted to check out 3 shops but I told him one was enough. It’s hard weaving in and out of the traffic holding the wrists of two boys - for some reason people don’t hold their childrens’ hands. Ponleu always seems to be looking at his feet rather than where he’s going and Oudom never stops asking questions or giving me statistics about world affairs. I took them home and quickly took off before they could ask to come back with me.
Sunday, 9 December 2018
Kampot to Kep and Phnom Penh on Sunday, 9th Dec, 2018
What a long day - 11 1/2 hours of travelling with frequent stops. Fortunately, our driver decided to take a longer route back to Phnom Penh. It made the day much longer but we avoided most of the bone rattling roads. Our first stop was Kep. It’s a lovely, small town on the coast. There isn’t an enormous beach, which is the situation in Sihanoukville but thankfully the hoardes of Mainland Chinese tourists haven’t found it yet. It’s got a tragic history. During the Pol Pot years, people destroyed any documents they had to prove they owned property; if the Khmer Rouge found out you were a landowner you were killed. In the French colonial days, Kep was a favourite place for the upper classes in Cambodian society. They built villas and stately homes in the area. During the war Kep was constantly bombed and so most of the homes were destroyed. Many of the people who owned the properties also died and so, when the fighting ended, there was nobody left to claim the homes. If family members were alive, they had no documents to prove they owned anything and people didn’t have specific information as to where their properties were. Because of this, Kep has a lot of ‘jungle’ areas scattered among the new developments that show where homes used to be in the good old days.
I knew, if we were going to Kep, our first stop would be the market. It’s famous for seafood and especially shrimp and crab. In the West, I don’t think we’d even be buying these crabs as they are quite small. The crabs are brought ashore by fishermen and then the women take over. They sort the crabs, which all have elastic bands holding their claws, into wicker baskets that are kept in the sea. When prospective buyers come along the ladies go into the water to retrieve the baskets and then the bargaining goes on on land. Once the crabs and shrimps have been purchased, they move to another section where ladies cook them. Loaded down with bags of crab and shrimp we then set off for an area where we can rent a space on a wooden platform with a grass roof. I always head for the hammocks. The food is spread on the floor and we all tuck in. I don’t have any patience with the shrimp and crab but I did enjoy a squid-like thing that had been cooked with green, immature peppercorns. The Khmer merrily munched on the peppercorns but one was enough for me.
During the day we also visited a couple of spots along the river where there were local people enjoying the water, riding in boats shaped like swans with foot pedals to propel them. There was a place with a tree top adventure set-up where people could climb up and down trees and end up sailing across the river on a wire. These places are not well advertised and so I saw very few foreigners. We also stopped at an organic pepper farm. It is owned by a Khmer man but the manager is from the UK. He had a strong Australian accent so I asked which part he came from. He corrected me and said he came from the island of Guernsey in the UK. I was amazed as he sounded so Australian - he said he’d been with Australians for quite a while and so had picked up their accent. Until I came to Cambodia, for me pepper was pepper. Most of my life it was always in the powder form but nowadays I do know about pepper grinders. In Cambodia pepper is gourmet and world famous - it’s also expensive too. They had black, red and white pepper on sale. Each is for a specific kind of cooking - meat, fish etc. I purchased some white pepper which is the rarest as it is the most mature of the peppercorns, with the ‘skin’ removed. It always makes a great gift when I’m moving around.
We also stopped at one of my favourite places but we didn’t go in because we had small children who wanted to sleep. It’s a mountain that is entered via a tunnel. Once inside the mountain you enter an arena that is open to the sky. Many years ago the top of the mountain collapsed and now this arena has a large open space with trees growing on the sides. It’s a fascinating place and I’m glad I’ve been there before otherwise I’d have been disappointed.
Once it got dark at around 5.30pm I have no interest in being in the bus and so I tried to switch off and nod off. Meanwhile the others on the bus are either eating or busy working on their computers sorting out flight bookings for customers. If they weren’t on their computers they were on their phones talking to clients. I felt sorry for them because they never have a holiday away from their computers. On the other hand, they are young and single, and they get bonuses on top of their salaries depending on the amount of business the company does each month.
The boys wanted to come over for the night but I told them I’d had them for three days and it was my turn to have a bit of peace and quiet. Thus ended a lovely weekend experience.
Saturday, 8 December 2018
Trip to Kampot on Saturday, 8th Dec, 2018
Saturday afternoon, the first day of a long weekend holiday. Monday is “International Human Rights Day”. It’s a public holiday here and I think it should be so in other countries; human rights are a huge issue in so many places.
I was invited by Vuth and family to join them and their staff for a weekend trip to Kampot and Kep - Kampot is on a river which flows to the sea near Kep. There were about 15 of us and I ended up at the back of the bus with the young folk. Sitting next to me was 9 year old Ponleu who is quite a character. It’s amazing how I can allow a little boy to get under my skin in a friendly fashion. At one point I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that he had started to mimic my every movement and then he started to repeat everything I said. He thought it was hysterical, and I did - for a while. It went on for over an hour and then I had the bright idea to tell him he couldn’t come over to my place to stay, and that shut him up for a while.
When I travel with friends anywhere else, we pack the car with our belongings and maybe a picnic. In Cambodia we packed the bus with food, and lots of it. Cambodians start eating on a trip as soon as they leave home. Within minutes of pulling away from the office we were eating ‘shoe laces’ of dried shrimp, beef jerky, various fruits, drinks, packages of seaweed, nuts and other nibbles. Whenever we stopped for a toilet break someone would bring back food. The two 3 year olds on the bus performed karaoke with music on a large tv screen.
It took us ages to get through the city traffic and eventually our driver got fed up and took another route. Three times he realised he’d missed a turning so we did a U-turn in the middle of the road. There’s no such thing as road rage here; other vehicles waited patiently while we did 3 point turns in the middle of a busy road. We arrived at 6pm - 5 hours of travelling and two hours late. All major roads in Cambodia are either in a terrible mess, waiting to be widened from 2 lane to either 4 or 6 lane, or in a terrible mess because the construction is going on. Oudom was sitting on the back seat, wearing my old Fitbit. When we finally reached Kampot he showed me that he had 21,000 steps on the gadget and most of that was because of the serious bouncing up and down done by the bus. Because I was in the middle of the bus I didn’t get any extra steps.
We had dinner on a pier, jutting out into the river. Kampot has many bridges and they and the promenades on both sides of the river were decked out with coloured lights. Cina pointed out that we had free musical entertainment coming from a place across the river and we both noticed there was also a free smell. I’ve no idea what it was, but it did smell like a pig farm. Because of its nearness to the sea, Kampot food is very ‘fishy’; we also had shrimp in various forms, squid cooked in a dish that included ribbons of immature green peppercorns, fried rice with more shrimp.
Cina always books the hotels using the Agoda app so we were shocked when the hotel said we didn’t have a booking. I’m getting quite laid back about these things so I just sat down on a comfy sofa and waited for things to be sorted out. Luckily there were rooms available and I ended up with the lads. Most of the group headed to the pool and had a great time. It’s always interesting to see Cambodians swimming as they do it fully dressed. Even the men kept their shirts on - “there are ladies here”, was the comment. Afterwards I joined friends from Phnom Penh who’d come with a couple who’d just got married. They’d brought a cooler full of wine, food, wine glasses and even candles. The candles came in handy when the area had a power cut. I’d have loved to have gone to bed but our hosts insisted on ordering more food - chips with fried egg! It made a lovely change to all the exotic sauces and dishes we’d had earlier.
Friday, 7 December 2018
Another flexible day
We had rain today and it was lovely. It only lasted about 15 minutes but it came at a good time - 5pm. At that time it generally stays cool for the rest of the day. I've just noticed the first cluster of flowers on the Golden Chain tree outside my apartment so I've got that lovely yellow to look forward to until spring.
I went over to the travel office and discussed my return to Canada. This time I'll leave in early April; last time I stayed the whole month so that I could enjoy the Khmer New Year but it really is a scorching hot time of year. Cina keeps joking that I should try business class; she says I deserve it. I agreed with her but I'm not paying nearly $7,000 to have a bed that I will use but not sleep in - I just can't sleep on planes. I am always flying via Taiwan, as it's the best way to return to Vancouver, and to get my Aeroplan points too, but I'd love to go via Europe using Qatar Airways - they really are a lovely airline. Unfortunately, it would be such a long flight and I'd end up in Montreal. While I was at the travel office I met a man from North Korea. It's interesting how most of us have demonised the country yet the three North Koreans I've met here have been very nice to talk to.
I went shopping today and came back with two full bags. I bought fresh and frozen vegetables, fruit, noodles for the boys, hair and shaving stuff, milk, yogurt, biscuits, meat and fish. The bill came to
$26.87. I'm going to copy the bill for you.
I was settling down to watch a movie in the evening when the phone rang. It was the two lads telling me they would be coming over for the night. They were on their way home from Chinese class so I had to go over to their house to meet them. I felt sorry for Cina as she was busy washing the floor. Recently, they had to send their two maids away because of problems. They could have stayed if they'd apologised for their behaviour but they wouldn't. It's sad because they were living and eating with the family and also being sent to school. Later I heard that one of them had put clothes in the washing machine, along with one of 3rd old Cheata's dirty nappies. So you can imagine what came out of the machine.
There's a lovely programme on the BBC about "Why men love sheds." My Dad definitely did. We had sheds all over the place. Some were for the hens and geese and they had to be whitewashed inside regularly with some lime mixed with the paint. That was to keep the fleas down. We also had a large barn-like shed that was full of smaller sheds that contained rabbits. This was during the war years so we never went short of meat. If Dad killed a cockerel he'd hang it up in the dark passageway leading to the kitchen door. It was awful walking into it when we came home from school. We all enjoyed chicken but there was always someone at the table who wasn't enjoying the rabbit. We saw them more as pets. In the 70s, friend Dave was praising his hostess on the delicious chicken. Nothing was said but he kept going on about the lovely chicken. Finally, the hostess said it was rabbit. Later, she asked him about the meal and he said he'd enjoyed it more when he thought it was chicken. I love rabbits; I think they make great pets.
The last shed Dad made was made from doors he collected from all over the place.
Every day I type a couple of pages from my Nigerian diary and today I had a fun time. I was reminded of the time I was stopped on the road by a policeman. He poked his head into my car and announced I was under arrest because I didn't have a fire extinguisher. I'd completely lost my voice so having a conversation was difficult. He thought I was a bit daft so he went off, stopped a bus, and came back with an extinguisher to show me what they were. I gestured, as I could hardly speak, and finally he got fed up and let me go. The students told me there was no such rule. One day a man got on a bus carrying a cage with hens in it and one hen was held in his hand. He put that one under his seat. It made such a racket, one of the passengers got up from his seat, took out a knife, and chopped its head off. The bus was quiet after that.
After picking up the two lads, Oudom said he wanted to go to a shop to buy some snacks to take on a trip on Saturday. We visited three stores and then I drew the line - all he wanted was chewing gum and some nuts. Back home, Ponleu said it was time for a movie and he'd prepare the snacks. He came back with a plate covered with different snacks and a menu he'd written. Oudom entertained himself doing origami, which he is very good at. Their creativity is amazing. When I was young we were able to be creative outside, with the way we played, but not so creative indoors as we didn't have anything with which to be creative.
I'd better stop so we can start the movie; Ponleu changes a movie after 10 seconds so I know I'm in for a long evening before he finally settles on one.
Thursday, 6 December 2018
Lunch with an old friend
After doing my daily floor washing job I've come to the conclusion that vacuum cleaners protect users from seeing how dirty their home is. When I use my mop and bucket I see the dirty water going down the drain and it lets me know I can't afford to miss a day. I'm not embarrassed because I know I keep my home clean, but I am reminded of the amount of dirt in the air. With a vacuum cleaner I doubt if anyone checks to see how much dirt goes into it each time it's used.
I had a good Indian meal (cooked by Pakistanis) with Son Soubert and Vuth. It's nice to have adult conversation. Soubert's ticked off that a dear old lady hasn't received official recognition from the government. She's in her 80s and was a court dancer in her youth. Now she goes to Soubert's children's home and teaches dancing. She's got no teeth, and looks quite old, until she gets on the dance floor where she becomes a kid again - and very flirtatious with the men. In Japan she'd be classed as a national treasure but here - nothing. Soubert was given an award by the French government but nothing from here. She had 16 children! Not that long ago her home burnt down and she lost everything, including all her memorabilia as a court dancer. It's sad.
A few years ago, a member of one of the Canadian dental groups coming to Cambodia, was so impressed with Soubert's life that he went back to Canada determined to have him recognised. Soubert ended up with a Doctorate from Lethbridge University. Members of the dental group, and local friends, raised over $15,000 which paid for the erection of a building at one of the children's homes. It's been used on a regular basis by volunteer groups who go to work in the area.
I should have done some grocery shopping this afternoon but I decided it was too hot for a walk - I'll go in the morning when it's a bit cooler. Instead, I typed some of my African notes. Everyone should keep a diary; it's amazing how much they remind us about past events. Today I typed about austerity measures at the school and toilet training. The principal, and those dealing with ordering food for the students, were siphoning off money so the students' meals were very poor. Breakfast was a cup of tea and a piece of dry bread. Lunch and dinner involved rice and a soupy "meat" dish with a 1" square of meat. How on earth they expected to reduce that, and still call it a meat dish, was beyond me. I was put in charge of training the school prefects to teach the students how to use the toilets. The basic principle was to tell them to "squat low" and not to use sticks and stones. Unfortunately, the austerity measures also hit the toilet roll department. I've no idea what the prefects did. There was no way I was going into a cubicle to check a student's squatting habit.
It reminded me of the War years in my English school. The teacher kept the toilet roll. We had to ask to go to the toilet, declaring if we wanted a number 1 or number 2. For a number 2 we were issued two squares of paper. The worst part was the fact that we lost points for our class team and this meant being beaten up by the bullies after school. I've had a chance to discuss our schooling with friends when I've been in England and generally we were divided into two groups - those who did sports loved school, others (like me) who did not like sports hated school. We talk so much about bullying nowadays but it was part of education in my childhood days. On our first day at grammar school, at the age of 11, we boys had to walk down a long drive which was lined with students from year two upwards. They all had running shoes in their hand and they whacked us as we went up the drive. What a lovely welcome!
Just before dark I saw three sparrows perched on a wire outside my window. Two of them sat stoically whilst one of them bobbed up and down. One of the stoics finally flew off, leaving one sitting quietly while the other continued bobbing. I decided it was a romantic liaison. He failed - the other one flew off.
No English class today; tomorrow Phearak, Srun and I will play cards.
Wednesday, 5 December 2018
Another ordinary day
Last night I read that Dr. Jordan Peterson, a Canadian psychiatrist, believes that getting up at a regular time can help us deal with stress. As I've said many times, I love my bed, but I am trying to get up at the regular time of 6.30am. It's early but I have to get my morning walk done before the heat arrives. I don't know what's wrong this year. October is the start of the dry season yet it was still raining last week. We are also supposed to be in the cooler time of year, so why is it still 34C and more?
Canadians keep posting photographs of that lovely white stuff but it hasn't lured me back. I love the idea of walking out of this place and feeling cement under my feet. I'm sure most of the back problems in Canada come from people tensing up when they walk on the slippery ice and snow. When the school year started in the Arctic we could have snow, rain and sleet in the same day and the ice was still on the ocean when the school year ended; I think I've done my fair share of winter.
I have definitely had a long term relationship with a bucket of water and a mop. In the old days in England we never had a vacuum cleaner and in Africa it was the mop - in India too. Here I have a lovely bucket with a holder for the mop head. I pump the mop handle and it removes the water from the mop head; all very high tech. Yesterday I nearly went flying as I slipped on the wet floor with my bare feet. I must have looked a bit like Popeye's Olive Oil, with my arms flying all over the place as I tried to grab something firm.
Every day I deal with dust. It was even worse in Africa. Here my furniture is beautifully polished, smooth wood whereas in Africa the wood was mostly plywood and it wrecked all my dusters. If I picked anything up in Kano I could see exactly where to put it back. The young students looked like premature old men with the Sahara dust coating their hair and moustaches. Nigerians are like Indians - they think a man looks more manly with a moustache. In India I was even asked why I didn't grow one. In the West we often take the attitude of "mind your own business", and so we don't ask questions but in other parts of the world there's no holds barred. In India I was often asked if I had a family and I would say I did; I would explain that my parents were dead but I had brothers and sisters. "No, no! Do you have children?", they would ask. They never asked if I had a wife. Finally, I got it right when I was with a young taxi driver. "No I don't", I said. He looked at me very seriously and said, "So what's your problem?" I'm still trying to figure that one out.
Back to dust. When I took over this apartment I was given three large bouquets of plastic flowers. It's dismal going around a Canadian cemetery and seeing them everywhere looking bleached and folorn. Earlier on though, they were lovely things. When I got my own room at the ripe old age of 24 I bought some plastic flowers as I couldn't afford real ones. To make them 'real' I sprayed them regularly with room freshener. Nowadays, I have given up on the spray but I quite like my plastic flowers.
I went shopping today and I bought some salad cream. Normally, I buy Heinz or Crosse and Blackwell, good old "British" brands although possibly owned nowadays by someone else. Today I came away with something made in the Netherlands. It tastes all right but it's not 'my' salad dressing. It's the same with so many things - a bar of chocolate in Asia is not the same as a Western bar. It's funny how we get attached to a taste. Shopping in Cambodia provides so many tastes of the same item because food comes from so many different parts of the world. Today my juice came from Cyprus, peas from Greece, tea from Bulgaria.
Samnang had me worried today when he was cooking. He wanted to do chicken using fish oil and sugar. I think fish oil has a ghastly smell but I was amazed how nice it tasted. He was quite proud of himself because I kept complaining about the stink. The phone ran at 6.15pm. He jumped up; "I'm going!" He knew it was his mother reminding him about Chinese class. She calls herself the "tiger mother" - and the boys know it. The 3 year old daughter is a different kettle of fish - she's called "the princess" and she plays it for all it's worth.
Tuesday, 4 December 2018
An interesting lunch date
This morning I listened to a programme from the Punjab and part of it was about the Sikh Golden Temple at Amritsar. They have over 10,000 visitors a day and they are all given a free meal. One man made the rice pudding using 500kg of rice every day. The pudding is made in what the interviewer described as a small swimming pool. A machine churns out 7,000 chapattis every hour. I'd like to put the place on my bucket list.
I was pleased with my weekly Fitbit report. It said I'd walked 63kms this week and climbed 53 stairs - thank goodness they weren't in one go.
An old friend, Kim Eng, has always worked in the social sector; I first met him when he was in charge of the Khmer Youth Association. Now he's working for an NGO that deals with rural development. He wanted to meet young businessmen to find out what they thought of social needs in Cambodia and what they saw as problems and solutions. It was an interesting group - a beauty shop owner, an airline worker, travel agent, educator, architect etc. It was interesting that a lot of the subjects were similar to the ones we'd talk about in Canada; children using computers and not able to communicate with people. Children who are educated but are not tuned into the world around them. Then some local problems such as with customs people who won't allow them to take their products without paying a bribe. Taxation people who want a bribe so that the company can continue functioning.
One friend works for a company that has 96 private Cambodian schools on its books and 160 teachers. He has trainers who work with the teachers to help them to see the social skills that children need. They work with young children from Kindergarten to Grade 6 and they teach them Buddhist principles such as meditation, cleanliness, tidiness, punctuality etc. The children are taught to respect the traditional values of Cambodia and to greet people respectfully etc., to clean their environment at home and school.
Friend Faye send me her Christmas newsletter and she included news about a man who'd been to speak in her community. He's an author and he's written a book about something called "The feather heist". Faye's husband was a champion fly fisherman who has captained the Canadian national team. He also used to make exquisite fishing flies. I ended up listening to the podcast of the author's story and it was fascinating.
During Charles Darwin's time there was another man called Wallace. Wallace wrote a paper about Natural Selection before Darwin did. The men's collection of birds were kept in a London museum but, during the war, they were removed for safety reasons to a small town called Tring. They've been there ever since and are still used for scientific purposes. In America there was a young man who had a fly tying hobby and was also a flautist who wanted a gold flute. He ended up travelling to England, breaking into the museum and stealing 299 of Wallace's birds - they were exotic colours and not dull browns like Darwin's finches. He started to sell individual feathers to other fishermen who made flies. He was caught but only 1/3rd of the birds were returned - the rest had been sold off or the feathers plucked from the skins and sold individually. If he's been able to sell all of the feathers he'd have made over a million dollars. He claimed he had Asperger's Syndrome and only got one year in gaol. It was an amazing story and well worth listening to. Here's the link if you want to curl up in a cold evening and listening to something interesting: https://www.thisamericanlife.org/654/the-feather-heist
Dinner is over - Samnang came and cooked for me. We were having a good chat and then his mother called for him to head off to Chinese class. He wasn't thrilled.
Monday, 3 December 2018
A lovely ordinary day
I'm disappointed with the bread I bought from the so-called French bakery. The loaf I'm eating at the moment has more holes than bread. My sister Barbara would not be impressed. After leaving school she worked for our village baker and she got so adept at making bread buns she could make two at the same time - one in each hand. Mr. Armitage, her boss, used to eat lumps of yeast and had the loveliest complexion for an older man.
The Chinese never cease to amaze me. I've just seen a group of about 20 Chinese men, all carrying golf bags along with their luggage. I'd have never thought that Cambodia could become a destination for golfers. I hope Donald Trump doesn't get the same idea.
I had to go to the store to replenish my supply of biscuits. I hate buying them here because there's so much plastic involved. All Asian countries seem to want their food protected under multiple layers of plastic. The biscuits come in a colourful plastic container. When I opened it up there was a clear plastic tray inside with small plastic packages of biscuits, with two biscuits per package. I wish my English market was nearby; we could always buy loose biscuits with only the paper bag they were put into.
I heard a fascinating programme on the radio about the history of plastic. Apparently, it started in the mid 1800s because people were worried about the extinction of the elephant so there'd be no ivory for billiard balls and piano keys. If ever I'm near Bournemouth I'm going to visit their plastics museum as it sounds very interesting.
The best part of my morning is listening to the BBC radio as I do my walking exercises. I do have a television, but it's for show. In the spring I couldn't get it to work so I gave up on it. Now it'll work but not with the remote. I've decided I can't be bothered with it. I think it's a gadget that makes us all lazy - we don't use our imagination any more. In the old days I'd listen to a weekly detective programme on the radio, along with "The Archers", a farming family. Listening to sports events meant we had to imagine what was happening on the field.
This afternoon I got rid of an exercise machine I bought earlier in the year. I hope it's gone to a good home across the road. I didn't use it and it was an embarrassment looking at it all the time. Now my home is easier to clean and there's one less thing gathering dust. I've decided I'm going to do age appropriate exercises that don't involve a lot of sweating.
Last night I phoned my sister Barbara in a village near Grantham. I think she was using her son's phone or small device as most of the time all I could see of her was her left eye. She's not seen the apartment so it was good to be able to give her a guided tour using my iPad. I can only call her in the late evening from here so I wasn't able to show her the environment outside. Maybe she can use her imagination!
I had an elegant dessert this evening - Samnang made an apple flambé. The flame bit was missing though as I don't have anything in the apartment that needs a match.
Sunday, 2 December 2018
Having children at 80+ is exhausting
Breakfast is lovely in Phnom Penh. I take my food onto the balcony and relax with the BBC news on my iPad. A lovely scent comes up from below as my neighbours always go outside, to their family shrine, to place food for the spirits and to pray. They use incense sticks and so I get the benefit of the smell before the spirits do. The equivalent in the West would be sitting close to a neighbour's clothes drying vent where we can smell fabric softener; my Cambodian experience is more authentic and pleasing.
Today I took Avikuo and his tuk tuk driver for breakfast so the smell was bbq'd pork. For a dollar I get a plate of rice, slices of bbq'd pork, a small bowl of soup, a dish of pickles and a large glass of local tea. After eating, Avikuo went off with the driver to visit the Killing Fields and S.22, the torture prison. I believe that anyone coming to Cambodia should visit these places in order to have a better understanding of the people.
A few years ago I met a Khmer lady who worked for UNICEF. She'd escaped to the USA during the fighting but returned to Cambodia as she thought it was her job to help her country. She refused to go to S.22 because it had been her high school before it was turned into a place of torture. She told me that when she was there the sounds were of laughter. Her husband paid a visit and he returned home and told her he'd seen photographs of members of her family that had been killed at the Killing Fields. The Khmer Rouge were systematic when they interned people; they photographed all of them and kept meticulous records of the interrogation sessions. Later she was asked to train former Khmer Rouge soldiers to be primary school teachers. She went to a village and saw the ex-soldiers coming to her class. They were wearing simple sandals made from rubber tyres. Her first thought was, "Those sandals killed my family; I can't work with them." She had a talk to herself and realised she couldn't improve the nation if she wouldn't work with former enemies.
I visited the same place for a workshop and men came on motorbikes. They parked their bikes and walked into the room. The room was our classroom but also the room where we slept and so they got the beds ready, including mine. Later, we sat on the floor for a meal and I was flabbergasted when every one of the men removed a prosthetic leg. They couldn't sit cross legged on the floor with one artificial leg sticking out, so they took them off. It was a strange meal eating with these men with legs lying on the floor.
I've noticed that other friends my age love having their grandchildren visit but they go home after a few hours. I have two bouncy, noisy lads from Friday evening until Sunday evening. I have to put my elderly, pensioned life on hold and put on my children's cap. Today we met Avikuo after his tour to say goodbye and then we went to a shopping mall for an ice cream. After that we went home for lunch which is generally noodles. It's only 2pm so what do I do with them until bedtime? I don't like them watching things on the phone and iPad so I had Ponleu continue using the Lego bricks. I don't mind him tipping them on the floor but, after they've left, I'm still finding some under the furniture. There's about 20 kg of bricks so it's a lot of cleaning up.
Oudom searched for something to make out of paper and he made something called a 'magic ball'. It meant hundreds of folds but he learnt after one effort and made a number of them. He even showed me how to fold but I have no clue how to do it a second time. I'm going to post a photo of what he made.
I was lucky enough to take them home just as their mother was leaving to buy some pizza. International pizza companies are here but I don't like their thick crusts and phoney cheese - they use a lot of mayonnaise. Cina goes to a small "Italian" place that makes a variety of pizzas that are very good. She came home with four large ones so we all tucked in. Sometimes there are advantages, taking care of children.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)