I thought we were leaving at 10am but it was changed to 9am. I was doing my morning exercise but had to stop to get ready to join Vuth and his three sons to visit a school in Takeo. It's owned by a friend who had the school built and it opened a month ago. His teachers are from various sources; some are part time while others are students of English Literature at a local university. He wanted me to talk to the staff about education. Monday was yet another public holiday so the boys were able to join us.
We stopped for breakfast and I ordered an omelette. The cook had burnt the bottom so he turned it over, put lots of vegetables and meats on it and then folded in the sides so I didn't notice the burnt egg. I couldn't be bothered complaining. For some strange reason the lads constantly want to go to the toilet so we either stop at a garage to use their facilities or we find a place along the road.
Cambodia could have lovely countryside if it wasn't for the rubbish. I've no idea where it comes from. In the villages the local people either burn their rubbish or they just drop it somewhere in the neighbourhood. In the countryside, where there are no homes, I think a lot of the rubbish is dumped by people in vehicles. If I focus on it, it's totally depressing so I try to avoid thinking about it. Rubbish is a huge problem everywhere, even in the UK. When I walk with my sisters, we often come across rubbish that's dumped along country roads by people in vehicles. It's not unusual to find huge objects such as abandoned mattresses.
We arrived at the school and were met by Oun who is the owner. We then drove to a nearby restaurant complex to have lunch with the teachers. They'd chosen a place where platforms with bamboo floors and grass roofs were scattered around the edges of a large pond. I made a big mistake and sat with my back against the wall for support because I can't get my legs under the low tables and I can't sit cross legged for so long. The rest sat in this way on mats; my backside was sitting on the bamboo slats with spaces in between the slats. I realised afterwards, when the itching started, that my backside had become a feast for the local mosquitoes.
The meal was enormous and I faded away long before the young folk. Some of the dishes included an omelette with meat mixed into rice and corn, there was a huge fish, absolutely enormous snails, large prawns, dishes of vegetables, plates laden with intestines of various kinds and chicken. Fortunately, the snails arrived when I was already full so I didn't have to attack them with a wooden skewer to pull the corkscrew-like creature out of the shell. I did have one shoved into my mouth by one of the lads and it was fine except very peppery. Being senior I generally don't have to fill my plate with food - it's done for me. It's good but, on the downside, I have to eat what's put on the plate. I found the intestines a bit chewy, especially the tubular kind; the kidney, liver etc., I'm used to from my old days in Yorkshire.
It's strange how we were told to stop eating organ meat as it was high in cholesterol etc. Nowadays, in Canadian nursing homes, the elderly are given one meal of liver a week as it's now good for them.
After lunch we went back to school and I met with the 20 or so teachers for a chat about education. They had brought note paper but I didn't see anyone writing. I wonder if they found nothing of interest, understood nothing I said, or were so enthralled they forgot about writing? I find Asians very reticent to give answers or opinions so it's hard work having a conversation. It was even hard to get them to say "Yes" or "No". In these situations I always say to myself, "I'm going to enjoy this, even if nobody else does." I did too. I shared stories from my teaching jobs, discussed the happiness of the child and the teacher, cooperation among teachers, understanding the background of the child etc. I tried to show them that even though the building was bright, new and modern, it didn't mean the education in the building was of good quality - it depended on the teachers.
It took 2 hours to drive the 72kph back to Phnom Penh. There was added traffic because many were returning from the holiday weekend. Ponleu wanted pizza so we phoned home and it was waiting for us when we arrived. I sat and enjoyed a few pieces with them. 3 year old Cheata wanted to know where I'd been. She said she had gone outside and shouted across the road at me but I didn't answer. My apartment is directly across from their travel office.
Back home I managed to bash my arm on the key sticking out of a door knob. I started to bleed like a slaughtered pig. Why is it, when I have to give blood at the hospital, the nurses have to stick the needle in a dozen times and wiggle it around in order to find free flowing blood? When I bash myself I am the world's best bleeder. So I'm ending the day with toilet paper stuck on my arm. It works better than bandaids/plasters because the humidity makes my skin sweat and nothing sticks.
