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.

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.  

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.

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.

Overnight guest and a walk along the river

The last time I was at the airport I was there for over four hours waiting while Vuth dealt with customs officials who wouldn't let Polycarpe, from Burundi, into the country. Today, Avikuo, from Northern India, breezed through. He's an interesting person. He has only one name - no family name and given name. It's very long and he said his parents gave it to him when he started school. Luckily, Avikuo is a nickname and it's a heck of a lot easier to deal with.

I'm fascinated by signs. When I was in India I would make notes of all the funny signs I saw. "Ladies have fits upstairs", on the door of a tailor's shop. "Teeth removed by the latest methodists." I loved one on a park gate in Mumbai, "No organic pleasures allowed." That got my imagination going. The best one from my time in Nigeria was, "Jesus Christ, Son of God, Motorcycle Spare Parts." The Muslims played it safe - on their vehicles they always put, "Only God is great." In the new toilets at the Phnom Penh airport there's a sign showing how we men are not supposed to use the sit-down toilets. There's a picture of a man squatting on top of the toilet with a big X through the picture. Then a picture of a very smug looking man using it the right way with a tick by his picture.

We took Avikuo for lunch to the local Taj Mahal Indian food restaurant, which is actually owned by Pakistanis, and had a good meal. Tola, a Cambodian, joined us and had Indian food for the first time; he said he'd go again, which is good news as I enjoy eating there. On a Cambodian table there are always slices of lime. We were flabbergasted when Tola took a slice, complete with skin, popped it into his mouth and merrily ate it - I've never seen it done before.

While Avikuo was sleeping I took Ponleu to the riverside. He's fascinated with nature and this time he decided he was going fishing. He hunted all over for a worm; I told him he wouldn't find any as they only come out when there's heavy rain. He did manage to find one but it crumbled in his hand. Picking things up off the ground doesn't bother Ponleu one bit. I didn't stop him because he rarely is able to run freely because of living in a typical Cambodian city home with no outdoor space. He decided to make a fishing rod using discarded drinking straws, which he put together and then put a thin stick in the end. Then he hunted around for bait and found bits of bread. When his rod fell apart he found a large clump of vegetation that had fishing line wrapped around it. He worked at it for about half an hour to untangle the line. Then he was all set. I don't like his being near the river as the banks are steep and the water is fast moving but he was long gone so I had to follow. His bait kept falling off so we ended up sitting on the ground watching other fishermen. A grumpy man said we were sitting on his line so we had to keep moving. Now he's looking forward to next week when we'll spend a night at a nearby seaside resort.

He and his older brother have decided they are coming over and so I'm doubly exhausted by the time they leave. Both of them never stop asking questions and they are always intelligent so I can't ignore them. Back home in the old days our parents would say, "It's for me to know and for you to find out." Another pet expression I never fully understood was, "It's wigwams for ducks to perk on." That was a favourite Yorkshire expression and it just meant, "Shut up, I'm tired of your asking questions." If we kept asking our parents, "Where are we going?", they'd often say to shut us up, "Tickhill lighthouse and Waddeth docks." Both of these places are over an hour from the sea so we knew to shut up.

My Dad had the best idea. If he was trying to make something, and we kept talking and bothering him, he'd start to make a growling sound. It meant, "I've had enough!" We always made a hasty retreat. At home, in the evening, there were often more than a dozen of us sitting in the kitchen. Dad loved to listen to boxing matches as he used to be an amateur boxer in his pre-marriage days. Because of the noise from the children he had installed the radio high up the wall on a tiny shelf. One day he couldn't hear anything so he threw a temper tantrum. He picked up the radio and slammed it down so hard it blew up. The next day he happily took it to a shop to be repaired. He wasn't one for holding grudges.

For some reason, Ponleu is now interested in the Titanic. He destroyed his Lego town and now we have a Titanic in pride of place.

Household chores

The locals tell me they wash the floors of their homes every single day. Sometimes I look at my tiles and I don't see anything wrong with them. Then I get the mop and bucket out and I'm shocked at the state of the water; it's always dark brown to black. I suppose it's the dust in the air, which comes in constantly, as the vents in the walls are permanently open and the doors are open during the day.

I don't mind really as it's a bit of exercise. Today I was typing my Nigeria 1981 notes and I'd mentioned cleaning my house in Kano when I first arrived. I was told it had been cleaned but their 'clean' and my 'clean' were totally different. They'd mopped the floor but had splashed the dirty water up the walls. I got that sorted out and then I had to tackle the floor. The walls had been painted white but the lads had splattered the paint all over the floor. I lost count of the number of razor blades I went through. I don't suppose the lads had seen a fridge before so they didn't bother looking inside. It was in an awful state, dirty and with lots of leftover food. After cleaning it I noticed there was only one hinge on the door and so I reported it to the school principal. He sent a workman to fix it but his idea of fixing the door was to remove the other hinge, supposedly to buy another one the same, but he never ever came back and so, from 1981 to 1984, whenever I needed something from the fridge I had to lift off the door and prop it up against the wall.

My Phnom Penh shower has started to behave itself after over a year of use. Up until recently I'd have a shower and turn off the water so I could stand at the sink and have a shave. Invariably water would start coming out of the shower head and I'd end up having a second shower. Again, I don't complain. When I was in Nigeria I had to inspect the dormitories and toilets every Saturday with an Indian teacher. I felt sorry for her because she'd be dressed in a sari and dainty sandals which were hopeless for the inspection. Water constantly dripped and algae were everywhere. The green slime would clog up the drains and there'd be water everywhere. It took us 1 1/2 hours to inspect the 16 dormitories and 9 toilet/shower complexes.

One day I was called to the dorms because a lad, Murtalla, had slipped on the algae and bashed his head against the shower wall. There were no ambulances so we put him in the back of my VW Beetle and took him to the hospital. The poor lad died from a brain hemorrhage. Phyllis and I collected all his belongings and visited his family. We had a photo of Murtalla and we gave it, along with his belongings, to the father. He refused to accept them. He said, "I know no Murtalla". I guess he was too grief stricken to know what to do.

Spending time in Japan forced me to learn how to use their complicated toilet system. I know people with automated showers that give the same temperature of water every time they step into the shower. After seeing what I've seen, I'm happy with what I've got.

The young boys I know are provided with a lunch every day when one of the office staff takes a meal to school for them. This is instead of eating the school canteen food. Today I asked Samnang if he'd had the Ta Krung for lunch that I'd had yesterday. He said, "No! I ate canteen food. It's too stinky and I have my reputation to look after." I brought him recipe books from Canada but he never uses them. Today he decided to do a sweet and sour dish and he just hunted through my shelves looking for this and that to put into it. I thought I'd befuddle him and said, "We'll do a flambé on Monday." He knew what I was talking about and was already planning how to do it. At his age I think I knew how to boil an egg!

The lads are at their Chinese class so I've no idea if anyone is coming over this evening. I'll have to kick them out early tomorrow as I have to go to the airport to meet a young man from Nagaland who is coming here for three months to do some volunteering work. I have a Naga blanket so I should put it on his bed to surprise him and make him feel at home.

Journalism, language and a special Khmer dish.

This morning I listened to an excellent programme about journalism in India and the role of women in various parts of the world. I ended up on the side of women. It was organised by Lyse Ducette who is the chief foreign correspondent with the BBC. I'm going to name drop and say I know her - she stayed on the Bocock farm many years ago.

In India only one woman in 10 works in a newspaper office and they aren't allowed to cover tops that are too 'manly'. They are limited to the softer subjects such as recipes and beauty treatments. It's even worse in Iran where the media are totally controlled by men. They talked a lot about positive news. One story was about a man who couldn't find anyone to water his plants while he was away and so he devised a drip bottle system. People learned about it and within a day he had five hundred orders. Many years ago I heard a journalism debate in the USA and a lady asked why there was so little positive news. One journalist said, "You wouldn't read it. You don't want to know that all aeroplanes took off safely today; you want to read about the one that crashed." I prefer the Indian story.

I often feel as if I'm in the dark ages when it comes to language. When I left England in 1964, if I didn't hear someone speaking to me I'd say, "Pardon?" A couple of years later I went back and a brother was saying "Sorry?" I had no idea what he was talking about. During my time in Calgary I visited a couple and the wife would start every conversation with, "Well I mean like". I used to cringe waiting for it. When I lived in the cabin west of Cochrane two families had trailers on the property and they used them on weekends. One of them had been a member of Toastmasters International and he would give me heck if I said "You know" or I hummed and ah'ed. He said, "If you don't have something real to say, then keep your mouth shut." That bit of advice has stuck with me for 52 years.

I keep wondering where the word 'absolutely' has come from. It was said by one journalist this morning - not once but many times. I know what it means but I simply can't bring myself to use it the way it's used nowadays. When I listen to the CBC in Canada I hear people using the word a couple of times in the same breath. In my English class today I think I'm slowly getting through to Phearak and Srun that the 's' at the end of a word is super important in English. I know how they feel as I can't get my head around the sounds they make in Khmer.

I was called over to the other house for lunch today. The family was having a dish called Ta Krung. Vuth said, "If a family is away from Cambodia, this is the meal they miss the most." It's a very different kind of meal. There's a plate in the centre of the table piled high with lettuce, the stalks of lotus plants, young banana plants that has been grated into strings and the flower of the banana treated in the same way. There's an aquatic plant, that you can only get if you know someone with a pond, that's known as frogs' legs and the flower of the water hyacinth which is a lovely dark lilac colour. One takes a lettuce leaf and adds bits of all the other things and then there's a traditional steamed fish dish added to the mix. The whole thing is then popped into the waiting mouth. The steamed fish dish is a challenge as it's got a fermented dish added to it. All of this went with a plate of rice.

Grandmother had spent a long time making a "green" soya drink so I had to sample a glass. She makes it by blending a special grass into the drink. After that, I was given some Durian. I love it but it does talk to me for a long time after eating it and my fingers are stinky no matter how much I wash them.

The people coming with the dental group are discussing whether or not to have an elephant ride when they are here. One man is a photographer so he's wanting to know about sunrise. I've sent him my photograph of the sunrise and I've told him to keep it in case it's cloudy on the day he goes.

Diaries really are lovely things. At the moment I'm typing my notes from my time in Nigeria and it's fun reliving events and being reminded of so many things I'd forgotten about.

Freezing bedrooms, English class and visas

It's amazing how positive the day becomes after doing my morning routine.  It's just a matter of habit but it's hard work.  I've always bragged that I could rule the world if someone would put a desk over my bed; I love my bed.  When we were children in Yorkshire it was often hard for us to settle down for bed.  There were six boys in one bedroom, six girls in the other room, and our parents with younger offspring in the third bedroom.  We'd start making a noise, which bothered our parents as it kept the younger ones awake.  Dad had a habit of fooling around which just made matters worse.  One day he crept upstairs and got on his hands and knees before coming into the bedroom.  The next thing we knew was our bed was being lifted up into the air on his back.  Naturally, we burst out laughing so he gave us a whack to shut us up.

On another occasion I didn't want to go to school as it was exam time.  Mother was sick and tired of writing, "Peter has diarrhea", so she sent Dad to get me out of bed.  I wouldn't budge so he tipped the bed upside down and I landed on the floor.  I finally gave in and went to school.  

We dreaded bed in the winter time as it was so cold.  There was a fireplace but we daren't light the fire as the beds were too close to it.  In his motorbiking days Dad had used a very heavy black leather coat and so the lucky ones got to have it on top of the blankets.  Sometimes we'd wrap a shelf out of the oven in a towel and put that at the bottom of the bed.  I don't think we had hot water bottles.  Nowadays I love a cold bedroom - life's a bit topsy turvy at times.  

Phearak came over for his English lesson.  For some strange reason I keep forgetting he's coming over.  Today he forgot his keys so his phone call alerted me.  I wish I could find culturally appropriate lessons; most of them are based in the USA or England.  The grammar part is all right but the settings are often confusing for people who've never been to either place.  Today I had to deal with "ground floor", "first floor" etc; today's article was based in London but others are from the USA where the ground floor is the first floor.  It also talked about all sorts of sports Phearak had never heard of; it was all right when I had to demonstrate 'jumping' but I drew the line when he wanted to know the meaning of gymnastics.  I'm also having to deal with the different ways of telling time.  Normally, in Cambodia, they would say, "It's eight forty", but the worksheets talk about "twenty to nine".  It's hilarious when I give Phearak and Srun my watch and I ask them to figure out certain times.  Getting them to understand 'past' and 'to' is a challenge.  I'm not complaining though as their English is infinitely better than my Khmer.  

I have to take my passport so that Cina's office can apply for my one year visa to Cambodia.  I'm always embarrassed when I talk to people about visas; most of the time I don't need one but, if I do, it's always issued.   I listened to a programme from Tunis this morning and a young lady said her wish was for all Tunisians to get a visa when they want one to anywhere.  There's so much discrimination surrounding visas; in Canada's case I complained once that a friend from India had been rejected twice by Canadian representatives in Jamaica and also New York.  Each time she lost the $60 she had to pay.  I wrote and said it was disgusting.  I received a reply from the Canadian government saying that it was one way of bringing down the Government's deficit.  

I should stop as Samnang, my chef, will arrive in a few minutes; today I'm going to have something involving pork.  I really should put in writing my one and only nasty experience with visas but I'll do that tomorrow.  

Mostly a fishy story

I accidentally left my phone in the living room so I didn't hear the alarm and got up at 7am; I was angry with myself and I didn't even bother doing the extra exercises.  I was so full from yesterday's banquet I decided that breakfast should be liquid - milk, juice and tea.  I skipped lunch because I couldn't be bothered and ended up having some cheese on bread at 4pm, without butter as I've run out.  It was a boring day as I just couldn't be bothered doing anything.  I've decided not to feel guilty as I'm retired and living alone and so I am only responsible for myself - most of the time.  

While doing my walking I listened to a programme on the extinction of the abalone population off RSA if poaching continues at the present rate.  It was no surprise to hear that most of the illegal catch goes to Chinese middle men as it's a delicacy back home.  It reminded me of going out in a canoe with Clio when she and Alex were taking care of a home on a tiny island off the coast from Swartz Bay on Vancouver Island.  It was low tide so we were able to pry a few abalone from the rocks.  I saw their iridescent shell and realised it was used to make 'pearl' buttons in the old days.  

Back home Clio invited people for dinner and they arrived in their yacht.  Clio had dolled up and was in a long gown while Alex wore his Matheson tartan to prove that he was Scottish; he was actually born in Africa with Scottish parentage.  Clio cooked the abalone in butter, milk and some rum.  It was a hard job; Mrs Beaton's cook book said we had to remove the snail from the shell but we had to be careful that it didn't die in a state of tension - what a whacky suggestion.  To soften it, Clio bashed the living daylights out of it with a wooden mallet.  The creature was so rubbery the mallet bounced up of its own accord.

After finishing a part of the meal, Clio and I collected the dishes and took them to the kitchen which was up a short flight of stairs.  We'd never used the washing machine but today Clio decided to put the dishes into it.  She put some soap powder into it and started the machine.  Within minutes there were bubbles coming out of the machine, filling the kitchen and flowing down the steps.  The guests didn't see anything as they were sitting with their backs to the kitchen.  I grabbed the dustpan and started to shovel up the bubbles and putting them in the kitchen sink.  We stopped the machine but the bubbles kept on coming and I kept on shovelling.  Clio joined the party and said I'd be cleaning up in the kitchen.  I just wish someone had taken a photograph.

 At 5pm Samnang came and I gave him a bit of salmon to cook along with rice and tomatoes.  He finished off the tomatoes by making a stew with onion and red pepper but he doesn't stop there, he always wants to add more and more things.  This time it was some cheese and sugar, which I hate although it doesn't harm the flavour.  He chatted away and then I smelt burning - it was most likely the cheese sticking to the bottom of the pan.  I knew what he was doing by chatting and cooking - he was trying to avoid going to Chinese class.  I told him he had to go as his parents would be angry with me and they might even stop him from coming over which would be a disaster as I'd have to start cooking my meals.

I finally got him out of the apartment by going over to his home to collect the bottles of vegetable juices that I'd ordered from Menghieng.  Hieng is a young Cambodian entrepreneur who is juicing organic vegetables - mainly soya, sweet potato, pumpkin and corn.  They are delicious, with no additives.  I got twenty bottles so that'll keep me going for a while - at $7 for the whole lot, it's a real treat.  While I was with Vuth, Grandmother gave me a coconut and Vuth chopped off the top so I could drink the water.  

The wedding party

The big thing about today was the rain; it rained almost constantly the entire day.  I started exercising before 6.45am and I ended at 8.15am.  I included some stretching exercises I had found on YouTube and a set of exercises involving a chair.  I quite enjoyed doing them.  I have to start early because I feel the day is over if I begin too late.  It's a revolution for me to do exercises; walking, for me, is fun and not classified as exercise.  Facebook told me I was to live until I was 104 so I feel I should do exercise to make sure it happens.  

While exercising I listened to a programme on smell and how some people are super sensitive to certain odours.  One man was a tea taster and he says at home all he wants is a simple meal as his day has been spent with smells.  Another lady was said to have an extraordinary ability to smell so many different things.  While I was listening it made me think of my dislike of the cooking odour that drifts up to my bedroom and often wakes me up.  It's bbq'd pork and it's nauseating.  On the other hand, when I go down to the little street restaurant to order pork and rice, I quite enjoy the smell.  It seems to me our sense of smell also has a lot to do with the way we feel, our state of happiness and health etc - for example, there's no way I am able to smell anything if my nose is bunged up.

It reminded me of Dad after he'd been injured in the coal mine explosion.  He lost his sense of smell and so, if he was cooking bacon, he'd shove the package under our nose to see if it smelt all right.  That was in the days of no fridges.  

Talking about our senses.  When I worked in the Arctic there were very few things to invade our senses.  Buildings were simple, roads simple, the landscape simple.  One day I travelled to Edmonton during the Christmas holidays and I visited a mall in the downtown area.  There was a hotel in the building and the guests' windows overlooked the inside of the mall.  As I went up in the escalator I started to feel a bit sick and I think it was because of all the things that were bombarding my senses.  The music, seeing my reflection in the copper coated windows of the hotel rooms, the people etc.  When I got back north I mentioned this to a nurse and she said it was most likely sensory overload which often affects northern people heading to the big city.

In the afternoon, Vuth phoned and asked if I'd like to go to the wedding party for Tola's sister.  I didn't know the wedding couple but I thought I'd keep Vuth company.  "Put $20 in your pocket", he said.  That would be my gift to the couple and generally paid for the meal and drinks.  

I felt sorry for Tola as he should have been outside with the family, greeting people, but he had to be inside trying to organise things.  He put us at a table with a couple of people from Nice in France.  Fortunately, the wife spoke English so we had a great time chatting.  Normally, ushers take people to tables so that a table of 10 people can be created and then the food is served.  This time there were no ushers so people were scattered all over the place and no tables were being served.  We waited an hour and then I got Tola to invite people to join us from another table.  Within a minute or two the food came and it was good too.

The starters included cold meats, crispy noodles, spring rolls and a spicy tomato dish.  These were followed by a steaming, boiled duck in a gravy.  One of the men at our table stood up and pulled the meat away from the bone to make it easier for us.  Then came a steamed fish in a lovely gravy, a Tom Yam soup with shrimps, a delicious dish filled with all kinds of mushrooms, another noodle dish with seafood and vegetables and finally a fried rice dish.  We ended with a dessert made from coconuts.  Drinks flowed freely and each table had a bottle of Chivaz Regal whiskey on it.  Our table did a good job of almost finishing it.  As usual, empty bottles and plastic were chucked on the floor under the table.  The wedding gift this time was a Khmer scarf which was a much better idea than key chains and other plastic objects.  These gifts are given out by the bridesmaids and groomsmen as they welcome guests.  I feel sorry for them too as they have to stand outside the hall from around 4.30pm until about 8pm; that's because guests arrive at any time.  

I met a man who asked me how old I was.  Normally I tell people but this I said, "How old do you think I am."  He said I was 57 so he became a friend for life.  His other friend said I was 45 which I thought was pushing it a bit.  57 sounds all right but it's a heck of a long way from 104.  

Bread and other things

After my morning exercise, as it was Sunday,  I went with the boys to the riverside so that I could buy some bread at Kaiser and give Ponleu a chance to feed the pigeons.  It's always a challenge crossing any road in this city but Sunday's, early in the morning, is a dream.  

For me a crusty loaf of healthy looking bread is comfort food; I could live on bread especially when there's some butter and nice cheese lying around.  Most likely Cambodia got the idea of bread from the French when they colonised the country.  The French liked to call such places "Protectorates" but heaven only knows from what they were protecting the local people.  Videos of their time in South East Asia are not nice to watch but I suppose it's the same for all colonial powers.  There are lots of bakeries nowadays in the cities in Cambodia but they prefer to produce a soft white bread and various cakes.  Baguettes are hugely popular but they have to be eaten immediately.  Bread is even called "Pain" - pronounced the French way.   Kaiser prefers to make European style bread and calls itself a "Boulangerie" - maybe that helps them to offer a light meal for $9.  Anyway, I do enjoy their bread with crispy crusts.

For some reason there weren't so many pigeons in front of the royal palace.  Ponleu started to feed them but children kept running through the flock to send them into the air.  It really annoyed Ponleu and he said he'd shoot them if he had a gun; the people, not the birds.  A Khmer lady beckoned Oudom to go over to talk to her.  I knew it would be about me.  He said she told him it was always a good idea to have a Western friend as they were better than Cambodian friends.  It's sad that people feel that way as often a local friend is far more important than a foreign one.

Back home we had our showers and breakfast.  They both wanted toast and, as usual, it was peanut butter for Oudom and thinly sliced cheese for Ponleu.  I had to get some work done so I said they could stay until lunch and then I'd take them home for a while.  I find entertaining children a huge challenge.  These two like nothing better than to be left alone with a computer or mobile device but it bothers me.  They both enjoy books so I really need a children's library.  I'm told there's a children's library in the city so maybe I should seek it out and take them there.  

Oudom constantly searches on the internet for information and he comes up with the most obscure things.  This time he told me the capital of Brunei and the fact that fresh bread cuts easier if I turned the loaf upside down and pressed down on it when cutting.  He had also researched about North Korea.  

The two lads came back in the evening and we had to have a compulsory fantasy movie.  It's fascinating watching the boys' facial expressions as they watch something that leaves me cold.  This time it was about an elf lady falling in love with a human boy and their battle with an evil dragon which turned out to be a good person who'd been turned into something bad.  Heaven only knows by what as we were watching part two.

Learning the art of parenting

On Friday night there was a big argument when I went to bed with Ponleu and Oudom; who would be able to sleep next to me. It was finally decided that I'd be in the middle. After that was settled, another argument ensued about who would tell stories and how many stories would be told. I put my foot down as it was already after 10pm and Ponleu's stories especially can go on until dawn the next day. I honestly don't know where his imagination comes from; he's only 9 years old but he can tell stories, in English, that include everything including the kitchen sink. I'm hopeless at telling made up stories so I usually end up telling stories from my past.

Sleep is never easy with two other bodies in the same bed. When I was a child in England we had three in a bed but I cannot remember it being as complicated as here. Oudom doesn't like the quilt so he sleeps on top of it which means he's in control. Ponleu starts off with his head on the pillow but in the morning he's usually under the quilt at the bottom of the bed.

I managed to get my walking exercise done before they got up for breakfast. Back home they are a noodle and rice family but with me they always want toast. Oudom wants his with peanut butter and Ponleu with cheese - he's says it's salty so I have to cut it paper thin. After that, the hard part starts - what to do with them. If I'm not careful they both want the phone and iPad. I've downloaded books for Ponleu but after a while he moves into playing games. Oudom is constantly searching for information. Today I learned about the capital of Brunei, which I have to admit I didn't know. I also learned the best way to slice bread - turn the loaf upside down, press down on the loaf and start cutting.

In the afternoon I heard "Peter" drifting up from downstairs - it meant that 3 year old Cheata was coming for a visit along with Samnang, the oldest. Luckily I have no treasures to worry about so I just leave her alone to entertain herself which means playing with everything in sight and then checking out my drawers and cupboards. Meanwhile, Samnang is discussing what I'm going to have for dinner as he planned on cooking it. They did go home for a couple of hours but then the three boys returned for the evening.

I'm always impressed with Samnang's cooking skills. This time we decided we'd have grilled cheese sandwiches with a tomato sauce. As usual, I had to sit in the kitchen to watch and discuss as he doesn't like being alone. He's a typical 14 year old; fed up with his parents whom he thinks are crazy, fed up being with his brothers and sister, the world is crap etc. He wanted to know if he should be allowed to go to a mall on his own. I have to be careful as I don't want to offend his parents. It's like being an unpaid counsellor.

The meal was excellent and then Samnang returned home to have spaghetti. His grandmother would be cooking it so naturally it would be a mess. I was left to entertain the two lads until bedtime which meant finding a movie. I've resigned myself to the fact that I'll never see anything on the weekend that resembles an adult movie. Last night it was a fantasy cartoon movie which I sort of followed. It's interesting watching the boys, how their facial expressions change as they get involved with the story. It made me wonder what we used to do during the war years for entertainment. In our house it means solitaire or dominoes in the kitchen. We were only allowed in the "front" room on a Sunday; often no fire was lit as we needed coal for the kitchen fire. After school we were always told to go outside and play and we rarely went home until it got dark. Here in Cambodia, city children are enclosed in homes with no garden and no city green spaces; it's no wonder they turn to computers for entertainment. In a way, I feel sorry for them.

Returning to Phnom Penh

Over the years I get quite good at packing my bag to travel.  I go through the categories carefully and place everything on the bed - clothing, electronics, toiletries etc.  On the other hand, I always have to believe that only God is perfect as I invariably forget something.  This time I got back to Phnom Penh and realised my phone charger was in Battambang, stuck in a plug in the restaurant.

Before leaving with Cina and Vuth for Phnom Penh I did my walking exercise listening to the BBC. It was a fascinating talk about the invention of the instant noodle which took place in Japan in 1958. In the mind of the Japanese it was a more important addition to their society than the automobile industry, computers etc.  

They were created by a business man who had failed at a number of things.  After the Second World War the USA was providing Japan with a large amount of wheat flour which was something they didn't use in their diet.  This reminded me of my time in Africa in the 80s when locals kept complaining that nations were sending useless aid; one item was powdered milk which was ridiculous as most Africans didn't drink milk.

Anyway, this man came up with the idea of the instant noodle.  It must play a huge role in Japanese life as there are three museums dedicated to the simple noodle.  The BBC went to one museum and it was packed with noisy children having a great time.  The man also invented "Cup noodles" when he was 95.  Apparently, noodles weren't selling well in the USA but one day, on a plane, he was given a small cup container, complete with sealed lid, filled with nuts.  He had a light bulb moment and decided this would be a great idea for his instant noodles.  Nowadays, they are the most important currency in US prisons where they are traded for everything.  One motto he had was, "In life there's no such thing as too late."  I like that.  He even invented noodles to be eaten in space by astronauts.

The Cambodian family I travel with are a perfect example of the importance of noodles - they never travel anywhere without filling their suitcases with cup noodles.  In China they produce around fifty billion packets of the things and one factory churns out five hundred packets a minute.  They are purchased by travellers who have long journeys ahead of them on Chinese trains.  Nowadays, sales are dropping because fast trains have shortened the time taken to travel so people don't see the need for noodles.  It'll be a while before that happens here in Cambodia.  There is now a rebuilt railway line but I haven't seen a train on it yet.  

I was looking forward to some peace and quiet at home in Phnom Penh.  It had been quite noisy in Battambang what with the customers in the restaurant and the ceremonies going on that involved the Buddhist faith.  This morning I was woken up before 5am with the tinkling of traditional music from a pagoda.  It continued until around 7.45am.  Then someone started to speak and he was still speaking when we left over 1 1/2 hours later.

My quiet time at home was broken when Ponleu (9) asked if he could come over to sleep.  When he arrived, he had brought Oudom (12) with him - not the perfect combination for a quiet evening.  Oudom told me that he'd been hacking video games while I was away.  He'd hacked one game so that he knew where the enemy was hidden; his gun even fired automatically.  I told him the government would be after him if they found out what he was doing.  I don't think it bothered him.  

Practising absolute flexibility in Battambang

The best made plans of mice and men rarely work out. My idea of travelling from Battambang to Siem Reap was cancelled because there were no hotel rooms available because of the town's river festival, which involved dragon boat racing. On top of that, some of the people I wanted to see were travelling elsewhere. There are three main holidays in Cambodia - New Year, Pchum Ben, which is when they go home to remember their ancestors, and the river festivals. I'm learning these are the best times to stay home.

While I was staying with Thornin and Serey there was a leadership workshop going on with Grade 12 students, run by two young Buddhist monks. Buddhism has an interesting attitude towards being a monk or nun. You can become one permanently or you can be a monk for a period of time. Whether this is for one day or one month, the man has to go through the same ritual of having his hair shaved etc. Some men do it to give thanks for something that happened in their life, others do it if they feel the need to find a new direction. Many young children become monks because their families are destitute; the parents know, if they send their sons to a pagoda, the children will be fed, clothed, given a certain education and cared for. These children often return home for events such as rice planting, harvest or family ceremonies. Nowadays, many monks are educated and they are happy to share their knowledge with other younger people.

At the start of the workshop the monks hung up a poster of the various aspects of leadership. It used symbols and was in the Khmer language. After they left, I tried to figure out what the symbols meant - some I understood while others had me baffled. I hope I can post the photo I took so you can figure them out yourselves.

It reminded me of when I was at the airport a few days ago. A man went into the toilet and he came out very quickly when he realised he'd read the symbolism wrongly. I don't understand why there can't be a universal toilet symbol for men and women. When I first went to Canada I was taken to a German restaurant. The toilets were labelled Hansel and Gretel. I'd completely forgotten which was the man so I had to wait until I saw people entering and then I followed them. In Macedonia the authorities often used an umbrella and a high heeled shoe or fancy hat to represent the sexes for the toilets. When I travelled in Cambodia about ten years ago toilets were few and far between on the highways. Passengers would get off the bus and head off in different directions - no symbols were needed.

While staying at Serey's family home I've earned a deeper respect for anyone working in the restaurant business. In Cambodia the same people work in the restaurant seven days a week. Thornin and Serey offer over sixty different meals so it's challenging work. The first customers come for breakfast at 6.30 so they have to prepare the vegetables, soup broth etc long before the customers start arriving. Breakfast goes on until the late morning and, at that time, the staff are preparing for lunch. They do get a short break in the afternoon but that could involve cleaning the restaurant and shopping for more supplies. The restaurant doesn't close until after 9pm which means very little time for family.

It's not just tiring work, it's noisy too. Children run all over the place and use the play area with its swings and roundabouts. Staff shout orders to those in the kitchen to save walking there. It reminded me of the short-order restaurants in the USA that use a tradition of waiters shouting to the cooks to tell them what to prepare. I have a devil of a time because I never know what to ask for. I'm used to a menu with a description and pictures; here people generally create their own meal by saying what kind of meat or fish they want and what kind of noodles and how they want them prepared - in a soup, plainly cooked or fried etc. It's one job I've decided I could never do.

I think it was the full moon today. The family set up a table with candles, flowers and incense sticks, along with a gift of food and drink, to give thanks to the moon for the harvest etc. I suppose it's the Khmer equivalent of Thanksgiving or the Harvest Festival time in the UK. Little Lee An gave me three incense sticks. I asked what I was supposed to do and they said, "Look at the moon and say something." It was a nice way to end the day; a simple ceremony, and giving thanks for the food I'd been eating in the restaurant and the people who took care of me.

Battambang, my first home in Cambodia

I've been coming to Battambang every year since 2002.  In the beginning I rented a very basic wooden home for $25 a month and students came to live with me.  I got so used to the sight of rats they stopped bothering me.  I pushed the toilet door one day and it fell apart; the termites had destroyed it.  We slept in a windowless room that was reached by a rickety ladder.   We had a great time together as the young students were busy with projects, trying to help the poor children in the community.  Once a month Chamnan and friends cooked a meal for about a hundred young children.  We had English classes and taught computers using old donated ones. At one point Chamnan organised English classes for the children living in the slum around the abandoned railway station.  At that time there was only one "institute" teaching basic college courses so my friends decided to move to Phnom Penh where they could study at a university.  That's when I also decided to move there.  I bought a house, which would become my base until 2017 and would be home for students from the provinces.  Actually, I didn't buy it; I gave local friends money to buy it because foreigners aren't allowed to own the ground.

I enjoy coming to Battambang.  It's the second city in Cambodia but much smaller than Phnom Penh.  I doubt if there's any more than half a million people here.  It's quieter, life is slower, and it's far less stressful than being in the capital.  My home nowadays is with Thornin and Serey who have a restaurant and share their lives with Serey's parents and other family members and friends.  In earlier days Serey's father used to take in young boys he'd find roaming the streets.  His family would care for them and send them to school.  He would also teach them the traditional Cambodian ornate wood carving so they would have a trade when they left school.  Nowadays a Canadian friend and I give some money so that six older teenagers can study English.  They promise to come to this home every evening, Monday to Friday, to teach English to up to a hundred younger children.  This place is a going concern.

Thornin and Serey work from the early hours of the morning until after 9.30pm when the restaurant closes.  Today I said I'd take them for a pizza meal.  Their daughter and son joined us.  They are one year and 4 years old and super lively.  To make matters worse, the restaurant gave them balloons on long sticks and a number of times we nearly had our eyes poked out.  Lee An, the son, loves pizza but for him 'pizza' means the little sausages that are embedded in the pastry around the edge of the pizza.  He seeks out the sausage and ignores the pastry.  After that, he picks out things he likes on the pizza and leaves the rest for the adults.

Later in the evening, two car loads of friends arrived from Phnom Penh.  Because it's the national holiday for the boat races, many people use it as a chance to do some travelling.  The restaurant serves a traditional soup which means a large pot of broth and into it you put vegetables, egg, meat, noodles etc.  Afterwards we decided to go for a fruit shake.  These are hugely popular in Cambodia.  They are made with a mixture of fruit, carrot, avocado etc., along with shaved ice, sugar, condensed milk and a raw egg.  My innards shudder at the thought of all that sugar and egg so mine are very basic.  I ordered avocado but it wasn't available so I ended up with strawberry - a daft choice in a country where strawberries aren't grown.  Don't ask me where the 'strawberry' came from but it definitely was a far cry from what I know as a strawberry.  

I don't think I'd survive in the restaurant industry.  The hours would drive me to insanity and the noise would do my head in.  I enjoy the food though.  The children's play area is a great success with the children, and also with adults who need a break.

My drive from Phnom Penh to Battambang with Thornin.

This is a picture of my local ice delivery man.  We can have it in a large block, which is about the size of a railroad tie or he will saw it into sections.  Many people don’t have fridges but they have ice boxes instead.  The machine at the end of his trailer is an ice crusher and so, if you want it that way he’ll do it on the spot.  Everything is available and within easy reach.  It reminded me of a time I had with a friend in India.  He’d invited guests from overseas for dinner and he asked them what they’d like for dessert.  They said they’d like ice cream so he phoned a number and within minutes there was a knock on the door and a man arrived with ice cream.  The lady said she was disappointed she hadn’t had a salwar kameez made, the blouse and pants outfit that Indian women like to wear.  Our host picked up the phone and within minutes a tailor arrived to measure the lady and she would have the outfit the next day.

I got up at 6.30am as Thornin said he’d arrive at 9am and we’d have breakfast together.  At 9am he phoned to say he was having breakfast alone and I should do the same.  At 10am he said he was stuck in traffic and wouldn’t arrive for another 30 minutes.  Welcome to Cambodia.  It wasn’t his fault as the traffic was bad but it complicates life as I kept having to open and close the doors and turn the fan on.

We finally left for Battambang and it took ages to get out of the city because so many people were coming to the river side to watch the practising of the dragon boats.  The provincial races have all been held and the winners are now in Phnom Penh for the championships.  The boats range in size from small ones, holding around 20 people, to big ones that hold around 75 people.  They are all carved out of single trees and are very narrow.  I’m told if a paddler falls off then it’s his problem as the boat doesn’t stop to pick him up.  There are a lot of single day holidays in Cambodia but the boat race is a big 3 day holiday and is a huge attraction for the ordinary folk as it costs nothing to watch the races.  I’ve seen them before and I always get depressed with the amount of rubbish lying around.  It all gets picked up but I don’t like to see it in the first place.

In Phnom Penh there are three rivers - Mekong, Tonle Sap and Tonle Bassac - “Tonle” means ‘river’. During the rainy season there is a huge amount of water coming down the Mekong and so the water from the Tonle Sap lake cannot get into the Mekong to flow south to Vietnam.  Instead, the flow of the water reverses and the lake triples in size.  The boat races signify the time when the water decides to flow south again.

Thornin likes to listen to music on the trip so I loaned him my headphones and I switched off and nodded off.  It’s a six hour drive so there’s a lot of time to nod off.  I’d never drive over here as the roads are narrow and wind all over the place.  There are lots of slow moving trucks, motorbikes and farm equipment on the road so I’d be a nervous wreck at the end of the drive.

We stopped for lunch and had a fish soup and a dish with coriander, beef and pineapple - it was good too.

We arrived at Thornin’s home at 5pm and I settled into my room; I have the same room all the time so I suppose it’s ‘my;’ room.  It’s next to a big hall and tomorrow a monk will give a course on leadershiop to a number of youth.

I was sitting on my own, doing some typing, when a group of men asked me to join them.  One of them owns a bus and we use him each year to move the Canadian dentists from one location to another.  They had a large pot of soup with vegetables.  I asked what it was and was told it was beef.  They gave me a bowl but I have to say it was a different kind of cow to what I’m used to.  I don’t think I saw a single piece of meat as it was mostly intestines.  I sometimes think I’m a walking garbage can as I subject my innards to all kinds of food.  I chewed away, with no clue what I was eating, but it was enjoyable and the company was fun.  There’s something special about being with people you can’t talk to; you just depend on body language and a few smiles.

They’ve left and it’s close to bedtime.  I hope this is going to be OK.  After a while my iPad screen starts to flash on and off every time I type a letter.  It’s hard to read and impossible to check.  I’m told that blogger is a Google creation and I’m using an iPad.  They don’t get along together and so nothing is done to fix the hiccups I keep having.  So wish me luck as I publish this.

A relaxing day at home in Phnom Penh

I hope you can read the text.  I keep trying to convert to large size but my computer won’t obey my commands.  I thought you’d like to see the green oranges that are just across the road from where I live; it’s the first thing I see when I leave the back alley.  A few weeks ago I saw a resort called “Green Orange” and it made no sense to me until I realise what it signified.  These oranges have to be peeled with a knife and they are full of seeds and also delicious juice.


On Sunday evening I offered to take Vuth’s boys to watch him play football.  Only Ponleu wanted to go - the other two wanted to play games - video games.  We were supposed to be there in time to start but there was another game going on and it had only just started.  About 20 years ago I watched a boys’ game in the UK and I’ve never watched a game since.  This time I had to watch almost all of this game, plus Vuth’s game.  After his game ended the team had a farewell party as it was the last game of the season.  While that was going on, there was another football game in progress and so, on one evening, I managed to see one entire game and parts of two games.  If it’s 20 years since I last saw a game, I’m hoping I won’t have to repeat the process.

I always make notes of things that are of interest to me, to include them in the blog.  Recently, I’ve had so much to write about I’ve put off writing about other things.  As I said, they are important to me, as memories of my daily life, and so you have to put up with the next few minutes as I reminisce.

On Friday I had Phearak and Srun over for their English class. Instead of going down four flights of stairs I decided to have a basket and rope system.  It worked well.  I sent my keys down and the lads let themselves in.  We had our customary hour together and then they left, taking the keys with them. They stood in the alley and I let the basket down.  They waved to take it up, which I did, thinking the keys were in it.  Then they waved for me to take the basket down as they still had the keys.  Down it went and then they waved for it to go up again.  This kept going on, with the basket going up and down, without the keys.  I then found out that the basket was landing on the balcony below mine so they were waving for it to go up and over the balcony.  It reminded me of that radio vignette about a bucket going up and down and getting nowhere; I think it was Victor Borge or another of those famous American comedians, in the days when comedians made us laugh.

Here’s a joke from Ponleu (9).  Why isn’t it wise to play cards in the jungle?  Because there are a lot of cheetahs.

Do people ever make comments about how you look or dress?  Here in Cambodia it happens to me all the time from the young folk.  I’ve been told my arms are a bit wobby, like gelatine.  Samnang asked if I’d like some hair gel as mine looked a mess.  He plays a lot of football and prides himself on his physical anatomy.  “Feel my calf”, he said.  “Yours is soft and mine is solid.”  Ponleu said, “What are those things growing out of your eyes.  I realised he was talking about eyelashes.  “Yours make you look like a girl”, he said.  I kind of think that’s a compliment.

At the engagement I asked a friend if she had had an engagement party.  She laughed and said he was so poor he could only bring 2 bags of oranges and they we in a plastic bag and not on a plate.

Oudom (12) said there are only two things he likes about Cambodia - the people and the fact that he doesn’t have to go into the army.  I’d been frustrated because I’d bought plastic suction hooks to go on my tiled wall but they kept falling off.  He said, “Put them in boiled water and it revitalises them.” I did and it worked!  I’ve no idea why he searches out these things at his young age.

Meakara and Sokunthea's engagement ceremony

Meakara and Sokunthea announced their engagement on Friday. I was invited. The happy couple are being blessed by family members who tie red string around their wrists and put some money into their hands.  

One of the first things to be done is to show respect to the family’s ancestors by placing food and lighted candles on the small shrine up on the wall.  All the fruit on the floor is a gift to the ancestors and spirits that take care of the family.  When the guests start to go home the fruit is divided amongst them.

The rings are in the red boxes.  Meakara and Sokunthea announced their engagement on Friday and a family member then went to a jeweller’s shop to have the rings made and the stones set; they were ready by Sunday morning.

Feeding time.  Chicken and veg soup, pickles, beef, a dish I never did identify and delicious bbq’d fish.

The oldest patriarch in the family conducts all the ceremony.  This is where he is blessing the couple and sprinkling holy water on their joined hands.

Getting ready to have the red thread tied around their wrists.  This was a small family affair with around 40 people present.  The families know each other well and are old friends so it was very casual.  Some families invite over a thousand people and it’s held in enormous wedding halls.

Cambodian wedding are very casual.  People chatter away, even during the religious part of the ceremony.  Luckily I didn’t have to sit on the floor as I can’t sit the way the locals do.  They have to turn their feet, usually to the right, so that the soles of their feet are pointed away from people.  It’s hilarious watching them shuffle along, on their bums, when people suggest changes.

Pre-wedding photos are a must.  A friend fromTaiwan is marrying a Thai lady so this is one of a set of photographs they had taken.  It’ll be a very elegant wedding but I won’t be there.

We are now at the end of the ceremony and it’s eating time.  Because I’m elderly I am allowed to sit at the table.  The man sitting down is 82 and recently he had a leg amputated because of diabetes.  He had to be carried from the car into the house.

If you are young, you end up sitting on the floor to eat.  I can sit cross legged for this event but then I’m too far away from the food.  Luckily the younger folk take pity on me and spoon food onto my plate so all I have to do is eat.