Serendipity

This morning I happened to walk to the restaurant for breakfast and I bumped into an American man who had just finished eating. “What are you doing in this backwoods part of town; most tourists are in the centre?” I told him I wasn’t a tourist and that I’d been coming since 2002. Dr. Ray turned out to be the co-founder and President of the new Dewey University. He joined us and mentioned that he wanted his students to do social work along with their studies so I told him he’d come to the right place. I mentioned that we gave money for six young adults to study English at a nearby centre and they agree to come to the restaurant every evening, from Monday to Friday, to teach English to around 100 young children. I also told him that Thornin had worked with another university to take students to a very poor area to give food to the local people. He got really excited and the upshot was that Thornin and I have to go to the university on Monday to talk to more than 100 students.

Some of you may have heard Chamnan’s story. He’s a friend whose wife died, while giving birth to a healthy daughter. I believe the hospital staff caused Sola to end up totally paralysed and unable to communicate or feed herself. She needed 27 bags of blood which had to be repaid by Chamnan. His 8 year old daughter, Tin Tin, had to be with her mother for the seven months, in her grandparents’ home, until she died and so it’s been very traumatic for her. She came to the restaurant with her dad and he said she speaks at home but nowhere else. He tried to get her to talk but she wouldn’t. Then he left and went to talk to someone else and lo and behold Tin Tin started to chat. I’ve known her since she was a baby so maybe she felt comfortable. She’s very good in English and I told her I liked the way she spoke because she did it carefully and slowly. When her dad came back she let him know that I’d said her English was better than his - in some ways it is too. Sadly, the baby has to be with his wife’s parents, which isn’t the best situation as it’s far away. I’m hoping he finds a way of bringing his daughter home.

In the afternoon a bunch of lads came to use the swimming pool. The family charges them 50 cents each if they come from families but it is free if the children come from an orphanage. The family have a large basket of t-shirts and shorts for the kids to use. In Canada there’s such an emphasis on safety so this situation wouldn’t be tolerated. Here, nobody worries about insurance, having a lifeguard etc. The kids just change and remain in the shallow end. In the heat of the day it’s a lovely way to cool off and I often just sit in the water, up to my neck; it’s even better than a cold shower.

Speeches, haircut and other things

I’m a 150% introvert (which most people say is a lie but it’s perfectly true) and Thornin is the exact opposite.  He gets his energy from being with people whilst I can often feel drained if I’m with too many.  The idea of talking to over 100 young people was therefore something that did not tickle my fancy but duty called.  When I’m asked to speak I try to put thoughts together on paper and then I either forget the paper or veer off the topic.  So nowadays I prefer to wing it.  I had to give a title for our time together so I said, “Learning from your mistakes” - seeing as I’ve made plenty of them I should be able to fill half an hour.

I do warm up, once I get started, and Thornin and I always have fun together.  I also talked about filling our personal backpacks with all the problems we haven’t dealt with - family issues, worries etc.  I think it went down well; I didn’t see anyone sleeping.  I haven’t a clue what Thornin talked about as it was in Khmer but, as usual, he had people in stitches and that just gets him going even more.  I was promoted to “Professor” and we both received a gift in a formal ceremony - a traditional scarf which I’ll end up giving to some lucky person.  We were even invited back, which is a good sign.

Next stop, haircut.  For me, having a haircut is as painful as going to the dentist.  It looks fine when I leave the building but the next day I’m totally fed up with it.  The instructions to the barber are always in Khmer so I have no idea what’s been said.  My coping skill is never to look in the mirror!  One old dear, sitting and waiting for her turn, said, “How old are you?”  I’m so used to it I don’t find it in the least bit offensive.  I remember in my early days in India I always used to say I had a family when I was asked if I had one.  I would say my parents were dead but I had brothers and sisters.  “No, no!  Do you have children?”  They never asked if I had a wife!  One day I decided to get it right and so I told my young taxi driver that I didn’t have a family.  He looked at me through the rear view mirror and thought for a moment; “So what’s your problem?”  I told him I didn’t know I had one.   This particular barber is not talkative; he just gets on with the job.  I ended up with a haircut, shaved with a cutthroat razor and my nose hairs removed - all for the huge sum of $1.25.

Thornin’s 3 year old son goes to a day care place that’s run by a Christian church.  He likes the place because they learn for half the time and play games the rest of the time.  He speaks a little English now.  He came home and said, “Daddy, Jesus is dead!”  Thornin asked him where Jesus was and he said, “Jesus is everywhere.”  I’m one of those who prefers to leave people’s faiths alone so I hope Lee Ann grows up to know about Christianity but be a good Buddhist.

Vuth and Cina had invited me to a special event in the evening.  It was a dinner that cost $100 per person.  It was a fundraiser in aid of a new Cambodian Peace Museum which aims to educate people about war and how to maintain peace.  Only 32 people were invited and I’m glad there were no more as the place was packed.  Earlier, I was told I’d be picked up at 4.30pm but later, when I was dressed up in my finery and standing at the gate, I was told it was to be 6.30pm.  This entire trip has been one of flexibility and patience.  I was picked up and plonked myself on their hotel bed until we left for the dinner.  We first went to a trendy bar for a pre dinner cocktail and there I chatted mostly to the Swedish Ambassador who seemed a very humble person.  Before we marched off down the road to the restaurant, we all lined up for a group photo; as usual half my head is poking out at the back of the group.

The meal was one of those times when everything was a feast for the eyes as well as a lovely taste.  We started with Amuse-bouche Green Mango and Sun-dried Cherry Tomato Relish.  For me it was a dollop of something spicy on two thin slices of unripe mango; nice though.  We moved onto eggplant dumpling, corn fritter and calamari; each thing resting on a leaf.  The soup came in a bowl made from a coconut shell - Tum kai which is shrimp coconut soup.  The main course was turmeric chicken with potato and coconut sambar, which is an Indian thing.  Dessert was coconut pannacota and season fruits with lime chilli sugar.  I can never understand why Asians put sugar in their soups and enjoy chilli with their fruit.  There was a waiter with each table and he was very attentive, constantly asking if we wanted more wine!  All in all it was a lovely way to end the day, and for a worthy cause too.

Back to my first home in Cambodia

Dish washing, Cambodian style

I had a reasonable sleep because I got smart - I folded the mat and quilt and ended up being a bit further away from the tiled floor.  It rained heavily so that kept me awake for a while.  The house was quiet when I finally got off the bed but some members of the family had stayed as they had to lock up after we left.  Auntie was busy looking in the mirror, checking something on her head.  Ratha went over to help.  I thought he was looking for lice but it turned out it was grey hairs, which Auntie plucked out when he found one. 

After a Thai noodle breakfast we dropped off auntie and a friend at the border as they wanted to go into Thailand to a market.  The area now has 20 casinos which are popular with the Thais as no gambling is allowed in that country.  Apparently, if the police find a deck of cards in your suitcase they can charge you.  Gambling is also illegal in Cambodia, but who cares?

When I first crossed the border in 2002 we were dropped off on the Thai side, after travelling on a good road, and had to walk across the border dragging our suitcases.  The road on the Cambodian side was broken, full of potholes, dust everywhere and bridges destroyed.  We were met by a man who told us to put our suitcases in the back of the truck.  Violeta objected and said that she didn't want to be separated from her suitcase. The man said, "You won't be separated; you are travelling in the back of the truck."  Four hours later, with sore backsides and covered with dust, we arrived in Battambang.

The highway had improved over the years but now it's back to being a mess because it's being widened to four lanes by a Japanese company.  How people are living along the highway I don't know - the diggers have gone down two metres and it's a sea of mud because of the rain.  Homeowners have little bridges crossing the ditch - just wide enough to allow them to take their motorbikes across.

When I first came here I decided to rent a small house so that young students could have a place to stay.  It cost $20 a month and it was not nice.  The floor was packed dirt and we had to climb a simple ladder to the sleeping area.  I stopped getting excited when a rat wandered into the place.  One day I had to chase a snake out with the broom.  When an Australian stayed with us he said he needed toilet paper.  He left the toilet roll in the toilet and went to use it the next day.  The entire middle of the roll had disappeared; it had been eaten by termites.  To use the toilet we had to open a rickety door and step up a metre onto a cement platform.  We men, if we were having a pee, could look over the wall and have a chat with people in the room.  One day I pushed the door to leave the toilet and the whole door disintegrated - it too had been demolished by termites.  Every day we taught a bunch of local children and once a month we cooked a meal for street kids - life was fun and not at all complicated.

I'm now settled into my regular room with friends who own a restaurant.  As soon as I arrive I'm asked, "What do you want to eat?"  There are no menus so I have to discuss what kind of noodles I want, or do I want rice? What do I want with the noodles - shrimp, fish, pork, beef, chicken?  My mind can't deal with all the choices so I ended up having a simple soup.

The family's building an annex to the restaurant so I ended up helping them assemble the fans and hanging them from the ceiling.  It's hot work in the 35C weather.  Rain did come but it didn't last long.

Tonight I sleep on a real bed - it's a camp cot type of bed, with a mosquito net but at least the mattress is 5 cms thick, which is like heaven.

The family ceremony

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.

Practicing absolute flexibility and patience

This is yours truly with Ratha at his mother's home. He provided me with a kid's chair and desk to do this report. My sister Pauline says that all old men should keep their clothes on. I can see it if they are in chilly England but I am not going to apologise to those who object to bare skin; it's a coping skill I've learned since coming to Cambodia. The man downstairs looks worse than I do!

Today's the day to join Ratha on his trip to Poipet to join family members for the 3rd anniversary of their father's death. Buddhism has some interesting thoughts on death. In Cambodia people die but they don't know they are dead for seven days and so a second ceremony is held at that time. I don't know if it's to celebrate the fact that the deceased has come to his or her senses or some other spiritual aspect of dying. I got up at 5.45am and Ratha told me to wait for him on the street at 6.30am; he finally arrived at 7.50am. A truck, loaded with vegetables, was parked in front of his gate so he couldn't get his car out, and he couldn't find the drivers. I could have gone home but I would have had to cart my suitcases with me and climb the four flights of stairs to the apartment.

We had breakfast in Phnom Penh at Brown's Coffee, which is a local company owned by four young Cambodian men. I had Eggs Benedict and it was delicious. Ratha and his brother, Savon, thought I should have somewhere to put my tea while I was sitting in the back of the car. He turned around to check but there was nowhere to put it. We continued along for a few minutes and then a policeman jumped into the road and waved us over. Ratha opened the window and then a five minute shouting match ensured between my two friends and the policeman. Savon kept pointing to me in the back; I had no clue what the problem was. Ratha presented his license and insurance and the ranting went on. Finally, we were allowed to continue. It turned out that a policeman up the road had noticed Savon turning around and had decided he wasn't wearing his seatbelt - which he actually was wearing. The police are very crafty; they spread themselves out along the road and call to another man ahead, using a walkie talkie, to stop cars and hopefully to get a bribe from them.

We left the restaurant at 9am and arrived in Battambang at 1.30pm where we had noodle soup and then we paid a visit to Ratha's father in law's clinic where Ratha's daughter was staying with family members. The clinic has six simple beds and four of them were occupied by small children who were all on saline drips. The BBC once wrote that Cambodia is the place where the people love the needle because the drip comes with it. Medical care for the poor is so basic and often the drip, or simple medication, is the only option. Generally, the children are just suffering from a fever but the parents are terrified of losing the child so they rush to a clinic. I've seen people taking their baby home on the back of a motorbike with mother holding the saline bottle up in the air.

The road to Poipet, on the Thai border, is being widened to four lane and I feel sorry for the people living along it. Often it's being widened right up to the house door. Dust is everywhere and the deep trenches have filled with water because of the daily rains. If I lived there I'd go on holiday until the road was finished. On the way, Ratha pointed out where his dad was killed. He's been on the front seat of a public vehicle, travelling in the night; the driver went straight into the back of a parked truck that had no lights on it. We were greeted at Ratha's mother's home by lots of relatives and I was shooed upstairs to relax on a thin mat covered with a quilt that was a little bit thicker - that's where I'll be sleeping tonight. I thought I was returning tomorrow but now I've learned that I'm staying two nights.

We sat on mats, on the floor, and enjoyed a meal of various kinds of fish and duck. Often the duck is tough but this was tender and delicious with the plum sauce. The daily temperature is around 35C so it was nice to go for a walk after dinner. I'll be sharing the mat with others so I hope nobody snores as I forgot to bring my earplugs.