I can't say I slept much during the night. For me, a mat that is less than a centimetre thick isn't conducive to deep sleep; I always wake up when I have to move so I can reposition myself carefully. The local folk woke up before 5am to start doing the cooking and then I was called to breakfast around 7am - left over fish and rice from yesterday's dinner. It's amazing what these people, doing the cooking, can do with food on open flames sitting outside in the driveway.
The family set up everything for the five monks who would be coming at 9am. Special pillows for their backsides and backs, gifts, bags of cut up vegetables, dozens of bottles of drinking water and soft drinks, their begging bowls filled with cooked rice. They'd make sure they were back in the pagoda before noon so the food could be cooked and shared with those living there. The deceased dad's shrine had been cleaned up and incense was burning. Monks always look solemn when they walk in; they don't acknowledge anyone and don't smile. I asked Ratha if I could sit at the back on the sofa but my request was denied. Normally, I'm plonked on the front row and it's excruciating for my legs, having to sit on the floor with my feet pointing backwards. I usually end up propping myself up with one hand as I tend to flop sideways. When I have to put both hands together to pray I tend to collapse into a heap. This time Ratha brought me a tiny stool which saved my dignity.
The lead monk had a sense of humour and, during what may have been a sermon, he kept smiling and had people laughing. One young monk, who was about 15 years old, looked like a portly Friar Tuck; he sat sipping soft drinks while the others were looking solemn. The whole thing went on for one and a half hours. When the monks left, a table was set up for a short Chinese style ceremony. The table was covered with food, which is a special meal for the deceased, and we stood around, holding incense sticks while a man said something. When that was over all hell broke loose. People broke into laughter, chased each other around poking people in the ribs and grabbing them in their ticklish areas. The family sat on the floor with a pile of money that sometimes ended up being thrown into the air. I asked what it was for and was told that it will go to a poor pagoda in a rural area where the monks get very little from the local population as the people are so poor. I was told that rural monks, during 3 months of the rainy season, don't go out of the pagoda to beg for food and so people have to take them things to eat. It's altogether a different kettle of fish to what happens in Christian monasteries where the monks look quite well off.
The family had been cooking outside, on charcoal, since around 6am so I think they were happy when we finally settled down to eat. Cambodian tables are covered with dishes as there are so many tiny dishes for the various sauces, bowls for soup (which is at every meal), plates for rice and other foods. When the area was cleared the folks settled down to washing the huge amount of dishwashing and others got together for a serious game of cards. I've been watching this same game for about 17 years and I still can't figure it out. One of the things you must do when playing card games, checkers, chess etc., is to slam things down on the table so hard they make a loud noise. With cards, it's always gambling and the people put money under the mat; why they have to hide it I don't know.
