Jess's Many Mini Adventures in Srok Khmer

Jess's new adventures on the farm

2009-05-13T11:31:00.004+07:00

I moved back to the US in December 2008. After 3 months in the hometown, I moved to a small biointensive, organic farm off the coast of Washington state to learn about how to grow things. You can check out the new digs here.

Reflections: Neither in nor out

2009-01-03T09:22:00.001+07:00

In Cambodia I was an insider-outsider. As a half-asian person with dark-ish skin, I was often mistaken for part-Cambodian. I was both "on the inside," but also always the "other." People assumed I would know how to eat certain foods (at least more likely to "take" to things that my whitey-white counterparts), people were receptive and encouraging of my attempts at Khmer. They tried to listen because I looked like I might be able to speak.

It's funny how being "ethnic" can help you avoid some of the idolization of westerners. Well... you're barang, but not realllllllly. I still remember when a student at the local business university would not believe I was American -- "no, you can't be! you're chinese!"

New Toilet Feelings

2008-12-12T09:16:00.000+07:00

It's 4:50 am on December 12. I'm in a lovely hotel room at the oh-so-trendy Blue Lime in Phnom Penh and I can't sleep because I'm too hyped up about flying home today.

My mum calls me "new toilet girl" after a Chinese saying about the type of person who has to be the first to use the new latrine hole once it's been dug. As much as I want to be sad about leaving, my predominant feeling is excitement. Not excitement to leave, but a deep thrill thinking about moving on to WHAT'S NEXT.

Things I'll miss: #1 Getting to know Cambodians

2008-12-12T06:11:00.003+07:00

Back in May, when the sun blared down and the water in the river was low, but rising, I took my new bike out for an afternoon over the bamboo bridge. The bridge is a seasonal feature of Kampong Cham. It's built at the beginning of the dry season each year, and each year, as the water level rises and the waters come, the bridge washes away and the island's residents have to fall back on the ferry to get themselves and their goods to market.

The island is an oasis. It is made of the fertile red soil for which Kampong Cham is famous. Outside practically every house are slender trees dripping with the weight of heavy pumelo orbs. Bananas are also in abundance, those tiny sweeter-than-sweet yellow fingers. The rice fields are a piercing green and even the cows are nobler than some in Cambodia. There's very little traffic other than a few motos here and there, but the island is mostly silent and idyllic.

That afternoon, I biked around the perimeter of the island, about 10 kilometers. The small space between my fender and tires grew thick with red mud and my feet and ankles were caked completely. Near the end of the trail, a boy came out, hands waving to stop me. "Where are you going? Where are you from? Are you alone?" And then finally, "Come in, come in, my family wants to meet you."

For the next two hours, I sat with Sophy and his family talking with them about their work out in the rice fields, but mostly answering questions in my broken Khmer about my own life, and life in America. They patted my stomach and and asked me if I could cut their hair short too. Sophy asked me about scholarships to study abroad and his aunties admonished me for riding all alone, for not wearing long sleeves, for not wearing earrings (because they would be so pretty!)

When I finally left, they made me promise to come back to visit. Sophy got my phone number and started sending me "i miss you" text messages every so often.

Despite some rough moments, I have found so much openness and compassion here in Cambodia.

At first I was tempted to accredit people's friendliness to curiousity. "What's up with the foreigner?" But then I see the way that people share babies in a crowded car, or the way that strangers talk like friends in the marketplace, and I see that this kind of personal connection is the norm in Cambodia.

I'm going to miss smiling at random people on the street. I'm going to miss calling people sister and uncle. I'm going to miss random belly pats and friendly advice from total strangers. I'm going to miss Cambodia.

Kids do the monkey dance at Wat Nokor

2008-12-12T05:28:00.007+07:00

One of my good friends in Cambodia is Vandong the monk, a young, amazingly charismatic man who started an organization to help the most vulnerable people in his hometown of Kampong Seam.

Just a couple of years ago, BSDA was run on nothing but the strength of Vandong's goodwill and the free time of a couple of other monk volunteers. Now, thanks to his cult of personality, the organization has an office, a computer lab, English classes, two buildings for the children, a full stage for the kids' dancing performances, a car, a tuk-tuk, money for programs, and more volunteers.

Vandong is a go-getter. He sees something that needs doing and he finds a way. It's not always methodical, and not always perfect, but he works tirelessly and has an uncanny knack for drawing others to his cause. Vandong and I met soon after I came to Cambodia when he was leading a ceremonial New Year blessing of our office. The outgoing volunteers warned me that Vandong would find a way to "suck me in" to help with BSDA's programs, and they were right. There was just no refusing Vandong. I don't know if was the bright orange robe, or his dazzling smile that was more mesmerizing, but whatever it was, it drew me back to the BSDA offices week after week to help read over donor reports, write new grants, and lend Vandong a sympathetic ear.

When people came to Kampong Cham looking for volunteer opportunities, I sent them over to Vandong. Les Frenchies did a presentation for Vandong's staff about the medical effects of drugs for their drug rehabilitation program and my couchsurfer extraordinaire helped train the English teachers on making lesson plans.

BSDA runs a variety of programs, including life skills like sewing, mushroom growing and pig raising, drug rehabilitation programs, drug-use prevention, and some scholarships. But by far my favorite program is the program to teach Khmer music and dance to orphans and vulnerable children. The kids are practice with a professional teacher and perform for the community and occasionally for tourists. In the process, they gain confidence, self-esteem, and a foothold into the broader community.

Things I'll miss: #2 Cooking with friends

2008-12-10T10:37:00.000+07:00

I love the way that my Cambodian friends seem to come together in a kitchen. Starting at the market around 7 am, watching them in action is like observing the industrious and mysterious workings of a beehive or colony of termites. First someone comes up with a plan. What will we make today? Once the plan is agreed, everyone spreads out in their own separate directions to the meat stalls, to the dry goods, to the green grocers to collect the requisite ingredients. It's not at all clear who's buying what or how much, but somehow, when we reconnoiter back at the house, all the ingredients are there in perfect ratio.

At this point, I pull out my pad and paper and start to take assiduous notes -- what's that vegetable? fry for how long? but can you substitute...? -- while the others are in a flurry of chopping, peeling and pounding all around me. As at the market, the flow is remarkable. At any one time, there can be 5 to 10 pairs of hands in the mix yet it seems like the old adage about "too many cooks" just doesn't hold true here. There are 4 dishes going on at once, and the person peeling the shallots seems to know just how many to do and where they all belong. Neighbors come and go, lending a hand, squatting to pound some fish, falling seamlessly into the action for a few minutes before heading home to cook their own meal. There's gossip, laughing, tasting, scolding, and then miraculously, there's lunch.

We spread a mat on the floor, dish out the rice, and partake. Generally the eating portion is done in a fraction of the time it takes to prepare -- no longer than 20 minutes, and then the dishes are swept away, the mat rolled, and each one to her house and a nap. The cooking is obviously the main event of our "small parties," the eating merely a polite afterthought.

I'm going to miss this camaraderie that came from chopping, frying, and learning alongside all my friends.

Things I'll miss: #3 Raja

2008-12-10T10:29:00.003+07:00

My little kitty has new parents now. The lovely Muoy and her fiance John have adopted Raja and she left to live with them on Tuesday last week. It was a difficult transition, but Raja's beginning to settle into her new life now, eating and drinking and back to her usual playful antics.

Though I came my kitty in a manner somewhat against my will, I grew to love my feisty feline companion and miss her like the dickens already. My favorite thing was when she would crawl up on my while I was sleeping and fall asleep across my neck like a thick furry scarf.

Bye Raja!

Things I'll miss: #4 Going to the market

2008-12-09T10:11:00.004+07:00

Market set-up in the wee hours of morning

Chicken lady

Beansprouts, tofu, and noodles

My home goods vendor

Marketing was scary at first in Kampong Cham. My first week in the city, I subsisted largely off of packs of dried ramen, not out of laziness, but because I couldn't muster the courage to get myself to the market. My first Saturday alone in my house, before I had my bicycle or motorcycle, I ventured out to catch a moto to the market. Would he understand where I wanted to go? How would I get back? Would I be cheated at the market? How would I endure the staring and the titters? I headed downstairs, out to the street, only to scamper back inside and boil some water for another noodle lunch.

Sunday was a little better. I managed to wave down a moto man outside my house and made it all the way to the market. That first day, I bought (what else?) some more dried noodles, some eggs and some vegetables before my courage gave out and I retreated back to home base to plan my next mission.

Each trip I became bolder. My Khmer lessons centered mostly around learning words for food and for bargaining and as my vocabulary improved, so did my confidence. By the first month, I was bargaining for meat, finding flour, picking out coconuts. When I got my moto, I learned where to park and how to pay the attendant. I came to recognize faces and became a regular at certain stalls. I had a place for housewares, for chicken, beef, pork, fish, eggs, tofu and beansprouts, veggies in the late afternoon.

Beside my staples, I was always discovering something new. The market had all kinds of treasures -- huge sacks of dried lentils, gooey, steaming coconut cakes, dried flattened bananas, sausages brought in from Siem Reap, dried fish in at least 30 different forms, stinky shrimp paste -- and these things changed month-to-month. You only had to seek out the fruit stalls to see the degree to which the market was ruled by the seasons. My first months were ruled by juicy yellow mangoes and rambutans. Then came the custard apples and famous bright red longans. Pumelos began to pop up with more frequency around July and pomegranates appeared soon thereafter, followed by tiny orange tangerines. Through it all, dragonfruit, bananas, and pineapple were mainstays.

Going to market was a ritual that made me feel part of the thrum of Cambodian life.

My eyes loomed large during my first visit to the Lucky Supermarket in Phnom Penh. Neatly packaged apples in styrofoam and plastic wrap, a-la Trader Joe's. Ice cream and yogurt and Prego pasta sauce and Cornflakes. Olive oil and Camembert and lunch meats, all within the confines of the one air-conditioned building. An entire chocolate section. Dark, light, hazelnuts and almonds. More than almost anything else in Phnom Penh, the supermarket was a place that brought me back to the Western world, with all its dazzling choice and convenience, and with all of its air-conditioned, odorless sterility.

And now I'm back to that world for good. Farmers markets are the closest I'm going to get to recreating the market experience, and they don't really come close.

Things I'll miss: #5 Clouds

2008-12-08T09:56:00.000+07:00

In my opinion, Cambodia's landscape can get pretty boring. The majority of the country is flat as an ironing board (the coast and the Cardomom Mountains excepted). The rolling green rice paddies set before a background of tall palms, dotted with cows, and houses perched on stilts -- it can go on and on with little differentiation from Siem Reap to Battambang to Kampong Cham. The people are what give the country character -- the children flying kites or splashing in muddy orange waters, the motorcycle man carrying piglets to market, and the teens in uniform riding in a straight white and navy-blue line 20 km to school.

And then there's the clouds. The clouds redeem the countryside in their unrelentingly, always changing beauty. There are the crisp white cumulus that hang above the paddies, set against the swimming-pool blue skies. The fast-moving wisps that tear overhead before a storm, and the dark grey sheets that drape blanket-like foretelling lightening.

There are the shockingly vibrant clouds at sunrise over a Sra Srang pond in Siem Reap and the mellow pastels of sunset over the river in Kampong Cham.

I'm not sure what meteorological miracle produces the startling effects, but whenever I reached my threshold of plastic pollution or motodup catcalls, I knew I could rely on a view of the sky to calm my nerves and make me appreciate this country.

Things I'll miss: #6 Coffee and condensed milk and grilled pork and rice for breakfast

2008-12-07T09:53:00.002+07:00

Rumdourl and I went out for our last breakfast together on Monday morning. Grilled pork and rice at the restaurant just beside my house. All those months living there, and I had never checked it out, mostly because in all the time I've walked or ridden my bike past by the place, I've never seen a single female sit down to eat. But Rumdourl assured me that this place was yummy, so we braved the testosterone and ordered our rice and my coffee.

Sure enough, there were more than the usual share of curious stares. Rumdourl knew half of the people there -- a fact that never fails to surprise me given that Kampong Cham isn't a tiny town (supposedly over 60,000 people) but that didn't stop them from ogling unabashedly and giggling in their somewhat disconcerting leering, but nervous sort of way.

But really, all this is beside the point of what I'm going to miss. Breakfast has always been one of my favorite meals and Cambodians are much the same. If we have an appointment in the field at 8, we arrange to leave at 6, to ensure ample time for a roadside stop for breakfast. And even if we're running late, everything can be postponed to accommodate an hour for a steaming bowl of kway teiouv noodles, khmer donuts with coffee or garlicky pork rice.

I'll miss the food itself -- rice, meat and pickled veg is pretty atypical as western breakfasts go -- but what I think I'll miss more is the mentality that prioritizes breakfast and body over productivity. Sure, it can be irritating when you're running late for a training, but I admire the peace and patience it takes to ignore (or at least postpone) so-called obligations to take care of primary functions first and foremost.

Things I'll miss: #7 Storms

2008-12-05T08:01:00.000+07:00

Storm filling up the river in Mondulkiri

One night back in April, I woke up to bright flashing lights in the window behind my bed. Half awake I squinted my eyes out of the window, but the screen-obscured view did little to tell me if it was from ambulance lights (seemed unlikely) or a strobe, or aliens (my number on hypothesis in my semi-conscious state). Totally curious, I groped for my glasses, wrapped myself up in my bedsheet (more for a sense of security than to protect from cold) and headed out to my balcony. Outside the entire sky was flashing, lighting up a wall of dark grey clouds from behind every 10 seconds. My first view of sheet lightening.

Storms in Cambodia are gorgeous. You can't ignore the negative aspects - damage from flooding, downed power lines, the aftermath of pools of waters where mosquitos breed - but the storms are also part of the cycle that sustain a way of life. The rice crop, the fish yield, they all rely on the crazy wet season. It's lovely being inside in a Cambodian downpour. The metal roofs amplify the sound of the rain so you can't hear music from your laptop speakers, let alone hear yourself think.

Things I'll miss: #8 Pumelo, dragonfruit, and longans

2008-12-04T07:11:00.000+07:00

Pumelos are my favorite fruit. Especially the small sweet, juice ones from Battambong that are slightly pink in color (opposed to the larger, drier variety from Kampong Cham that looks green and tastes better with chili and salt). You can get pumelos in California, sure. But there's something about buying it from a lady in pyjamas who peels off everything but the base, so that the white pumelo sits up jaunty-like in its bright green base, beckoning to you.

And then there's dragonfruit, which seems like it has to be cousin to the kiwi. I didn't understand the appeal at first -- its bright exterior seemed to belie its bland white insides -- but then I chilled it and started eating it for breakfast with yogurt and a little bit of mueslix and I was hooked.

And finally longans -- not those white things in syrup you find in cans at the 99 Ranch market -- but the real deal. Red and brown and bumpy with a ridiculously sweet and fragrant juicy inside. Perfect plump packages of goodness. YUM.

Things I'll miss: #9 Cows

2008-12-03T12:18:00.000+07:00

Cows doing their cow thing on an island in the Mekong

Outside the door of the office, in the path of my bicycle on the way to work, on the side of the road, out near the river. The cows are everywhere and I'm going to miss them. When Jaime came to visit, he said the cows here seemed statelier than in the US. I have to attribute this in part to the fact that they are not bunched together in massive feedlots, giving off noxious methane fumes, but rather roam around picturesquely in 2s or 3s posing in front of beautiful pastoral views of rice paddies or rivers. Plus, I'm of the mind that many animals up close (because you get close when you're about to ram on with your bike) are rather noble.

There's a horse trail behind my house in Fullerton, and a few ostrich farms, but no cows as far as I know. So here's a parting moo to my bovine friends.

Joyriding

2008-12-03T11:55:00.000+07:00

Some evenings, around 5, when the sun starts to wane and the light gets silky, I like to hop on my bike and meander around town.

I head down my road, past the moto drivers waiting for a fare, past the metalshop, the carwash, the linoleum store, the agriculture supply. At 5pm, the afternoon session of school has ended, work is out, and folks are pouring down the road towards noodle soup dinners and home. On the left, I ride by the woodcarving shop with a noodle table out front, Prasac Microfinance Bank, the Cambodia British Centre where kids on crisply pressed uniforms just coming from school lounge outside on their bicycles waiting for their English class, the newspaper stand with the colorful and uniformly garish fashion magazines. Then the new fancy cosmetics store where they've installed plastic bucket chairs theater-style like those in an airport terminal or DMV, and where, around this time, they pull out a TV on the cashier's counter and unlikely clientele (middle-aged men) will watch sports. I wonder if this element was planned, or just a bit of local color, and I wonder if they ask the men to buy some whitening face cream before they're allowed to slouch down to watch wrestling.

At the corner, there's the Bruins Blue-and-Yellow Hello cell-phone shop, which was constructed and opened since I moved to Kampong Cham. Here my street intersects with the "main drag," a boulevard that I've described before, which appears to harken back from the colonial era -- jaunty decorated lampposts, and nice benches. Later in the evening, there will be the heartbreaking scene of a malnourished teen and two or three kids taking turns sniffing glue from a paper sack. But now, there's just traffic and a man in a jogging uniform walking up and down pumping his arms to an imaginary beat.

Across the boulevard, I pass the Chinese School Market -- bustling in the late afternoon. In front of me, there's a man in garish camo pyjamas and a fisherman's hat with the drawstring strung tight across his neck. There are kids, kids, kids in their white oxford shirts and blue pants, sitting 3 to a moto, or riding on the back rack of the bicycle, some heading for home, but mostly for the riverside where they'll ride up and down in packs, laughing and flirting. There are ladies in Khmer pyjamas -- like the scrubs of nurses who work in a pediatrician's office -- shapeless uniforms with prints of teddy bears or bunnies or bright flowers. Market-going attire.

On the corner in front of the cellphone repair shop run by Rumdourl's brother is my pumelo lady. Perfect green orbs stacked neatly in a pyramid. I pass the meatball stands in front of the Vietnamese Clinic, pass the woman frying bananas in sesame batter, pass the sugarcane press. The men on motorcycle row call out "hello" as I go by, and then I'm passing the plaza with the painted-gold statue of Hanuman the monkey fighting his brother, and then I'm at the riverside.

The bridge is beautiful in the evening light, so I turn right and head down a ways and then stop to look out over the water. The water is way down in dry season and the pylons are bright orange on the bottom where the water used to be. Huge trucks with lumber from exhausted rubber trees and perhaps from as far up as Mondulkiri make their way over the bridge, passing lovers on motos heading the other direction towards the roadside stands where you can lie in hammocks drinking soursop juice and eating fresh cobs of sweet corn, either grilled or steamed.

A bit further down the riverside is a school. There's smoke billowing in the courtyard and spilling out to the street -- it smells sharp like plastic so I try not to breathe in too deeply and wonder how the kids can continue to run around and fly their kites in the middle of the cloud of fumes.

Riverside vendor with his kites and inflatables

I'm feeling especially alive, so I decide to take the path through the Cham village, where it's marketing time. No pigs here, only shiny beef and vegetables and sometimes a random goat. Then I'm past the ladies in their headscarves and the bearded men with turbans, past the huge Muslim Aid banner, and up next to the white mosque, with its silver tiled minarets that glow at this time of day.

A picturesque trash heap right before the Cham village

Kids play in the courtyard of the neighborhood mosque at twilight

I take the quick route back into town, by this time it's nearing dark so I make a careful circle at the roundabout and head up onto the bridge. It's tough going with no gears. The bridge is relatively steep, but I power on until what seems like the highest point, where I get off and survey the mighty Mekong. Across the river, you can still make out the outline of the signal tower. Then there are some disco lights, and behind, the "skyline" of Kampong Cham town. There's always a breeze up here, even on the warmest days and it's pretty much deserted, for which I can thank Cambodian superstition about the ghosts of frustrated lovers who jumped and now haunt the bridge.

The Kampong Cham skyline from the bridge

Riverside at night

Eventually, I head back down, coasting all the way back around the circle, down the street to the Starmart where I head in to pick up some vanilla yogurt -- which always comes with tiny plastic spoons.

Things I'll miss: #10 The Khmer Language

2008-12-02T19:43:00.001+07:00

Consonant practice

I gave up my Khmer lessons back in September, but I still pick up new words every now and then, generally food-related, like how to ask for sticky rice at the market. I love surprising people by going beyond your usual "Hi, I'm from the USA. I like mangos." to asking about their family and their work and other advanced-beginning sorts of topics. Even when I tell people I've been here 9 months, they're still amazed that I've picked up enough Khmer to ask them the number and age of their children and explain what I'm doing in Cambodia. There's the joy of talking, and then there's the letters, which are so beautiful that just practicing them was like meditation. So many signs are in English here, but I'm delighted when lettering is in Khmer -- even though I can't understand it (I gave up before I made my way through all the vowels) it's pretty to look at.

It's going to be sad to go back to the States where only a small number of people even know what Khmer is. I will have to take some trips to Long Beach to practice.

10 days till takeoff: The goodbye bash

2008-12-02T09:01:00.000+07:00

December 2, ten days until I take off to return to the US.

Yesterday on the first, I had a small going away party at my house -- one last hurrah before heading out of Kampong Cham. In all, around 25 friends and coworkers showed up, filling the living room and spilling out onto the balcony. I cooked Hainanese chicken rice, two kinds of curry and steamed fish, and most people chipped in food -- amok, fruits, plear threi, special soup, pork lime salad, tempura, strawberry jello. The pots and platters spilled off of the dinner table to the coffee table and the floor. I thought we would have too much food, but everyone did their part and by the end of the night I was astonished and impressed at the scraps and bones that remained.

The action

The bare bones

I wore my new Khmer outfit -- made by a local tailor to the pattern chosen by Sopheap and Somart. Even Vandong the monk came, though per his alimentary restrictions, all he had was a soybean drink.

Showing off my new outfit with the beautiful Muoy

A contingent over on the floor got their drink on, and finished 4 bottles of Randonal "power" wine, some ABC Stout, and about a dozen cans of grass jelly.

Somart, the party animal

Sarah drank her fair share of the Rum.
Rumdourl looks on, amused as usual

To honor my departure, everyone stayed later than usual. Somanee started the exodus around 8:30, and the rest followed soon after.

The girls out on the balcony.
L to R, Somart, Sok Pi, Sopheap, Van Dy, Sambath, and Muoy

By 8:45, Peace Corps Sarah and I were the only ones left. By then, magically, the leftovers were put away, the dishes were all cleared and washed, the floors mopped, and the furniture put back in its place.

Oh the crisp air of Chiang Mai

2008-12-01T08:12:00.000+07:00

It's amazing what a difference climate makes.

I arrived in Chiang Mai around noon, off the overnight train from Bangkok. I was already elated, having actually made my train despite some serious difficulties, but stepping off the train into the crisp Northern air felt oh-so-good that I was grinning like a mad woman at all the vendors on the platform.

My ten-day jaunt to Chiang Mai happened back in mid-November. The trip kicked off the month-long countdown to my departure from Cambodia for California, and the cool dry weather was so similar to Orange County in autumn that it was impossible not to feel at home.

Upon my arrival, I took a winding route from the train station, across the entire town, through the bustling Wararot Market, where I picked up some coconut cream puffs -- soft crepe-like dough wrapped around neon green coco-cream filling, past a million wats, past a used bookstore where I happily overpaid for two paperbacks, past about 300 7-11s, and eventually all the way up Huay Keuw road to the hostel. The hostel was nestled in a small residential neighborhood aptly named Natawan Village. The houses were medium-sized brown and white cottage-y affairs that looked faintly pastoral with their thatched roofs and jaunty windows. The hostel drew your typical mix of young travelers, many single women on long-term trips, a few large groups of Irish and Scottish lads who had met up on their way, a Canadian couple, your requisite Germans, and me the only American for awhile. It was extremely clean and friendly, but definitely had a college vibe -- with photos plastered on the wall of nights out on the town and group trips to mountain lakes.

My first order of business was to hit up the local mall to pick up some toiletries and a scope out shoe stores to see about tevas for my trek near the end of the week. As I headed back into the village from my shopping expedition, the roti man had just set up his stall at the entrance to the neighborhood and he was making a first order for two teenage residents. I got to talking with them and they kindly ordered for me in Thai and then paid for my banana roti -- fried with an egg, and slathered in condensed milk and chocolate, with sugar on top.

Mm.. banana roti in the evening light

This perfect welcome boded well for the rest of my trip. That night, I went to a traditional khantoke dinner-dance show. The food was amazing -- and I was entertained not only by the dancers, but also by the very friendly couple behind me from New Jersey who only ate the fried chicken and white rice, so that they had to ask for refills five or six times during the show. The next day, I biked around town, checking out the major temples, taking photos and chatting with monks, and then spent 3.5 hours being scrubbed and rubbed and steamed until my skin glowed.

One of the hilltribe dances at the khantoke dinner.

Temple goodness

I spent one afternoon hopping from one trendy coffeeshop to the next on trendy Nimmanhaemin road. I swam 100 laps at a rooftop pool. I took a cooking class at an organic farm where I made friends with the instructor who shares my dream of someday opening her own food-related business.

Mont Blanc -- delicious coffee, yummy cakes and sweet atmosphere

Ingredients for Pad See Ew

Chiang Mai was the land of couples -- couples honeymooning, couples on year-long-round-the-world-jaunts, couples who just met, old couples, young couples, and me. Did it make me miss Jaime? Yes, like the Dickens. Did it curb my enjoyment of this beautiful town? Not a whit. (Well, maybe a whit, but not more than a smidge) This was especially apparent at the cooking course, where I was joined by a young clingy couple from Switzerland, a vibrant Danish pair, and a understate but sweet French duo from Brittany. Being without my other-half, I was paired by default with a huge, overbearing, somewhat racist Australian woman who couldn't stop talking if her life depended on it. In the course of a couple hours, I heard all about the negative qualities of her Laotian in-laws, the amazing abilities of her 3 long-distance swimmer kids, and the time her washing machine broke down and she went out that very day to buy a new one!

Some of my favorite moments on the trip included the twinkling night sky at the gorgeous Loy Krathong festival.

Loy Krathong on the river

Then there was the view from our hut during the overnight trek in Chiang Dao, the luscious green bamboo archways vaulting over our path, the cute little upside down bat in the limestone caverns.

Mist falling over the hills in the morning

There was cheering for the impromptu soccer match -- Lisu v. Lisu. And eating with bamboo chopsticks from bamboo boats carved from fresh green stalks by our guide Pol.

Our bamboo lunchware

Visiting the Sunday night market with all the amazing young artists and designers sitting on the sidewalk with their handpainted sneakers and trendy printed satchels and clever graphic tees.

Favorites from the Sunday Market

And motoing up the hill to see Wat Doi Suthep. The temple itself was overrun with tourists -- next time I'd go at dawn -- but the air on the ride up was crispy and fragrant so that you felt more alive afterwards than before.

For more photos, click here.

My Singaporean Homecoming

2008-11-30T13:24:00.000+07:00

Back in October, I took a trip back to Singapore for the first time in about 9 years.

As a kid, I traveled to Singapore with my family six or seven times. I can remember general impressions -- tossing around sweaty in my singlet trying to get to sleep; going to the zoo; swimming at the fancy club; my Kong Kong toasting me a slice of bread topped with cheese and sugar or running out to pick up oily chicken rice wrapped in a banana leaf; family members taking us out to fancy meals and giving me red packets; watching terrible Singaporean dramas; going to Sentosa; getting mosquito bites; munching on fried bananas; handing out gum to cousins I didn't know I had... all, in all, a great experience.

I love being half-Singaporean. It's always seemed way cooler than just being half-Chinese. Singapore's exotic, the land of beautiful stewardesses and orchids and canings. Whenever I hear someone with the quirky slightly British, totally distinctive, Singaporean accent with its liberally sprinkled "lah-s" and "aiyah-s" I feel a warming in my soul. But my love for all things Singapore is sort of an uninformed infatuation, rather than a deep passion bred by understanding. So though I thought my heritage was spiffy, I never really felt Singaporean (my aiyahs are forced and I hate durian).

So that's why I was a bit surprised when my recent trip made me feel like falling straight into the bosom of my motherland. Hanging out with my cousin Aidan and his friend Alex, walking around Singapore and eating at the hawker centers -- I felt at home, like I belonged. I was a little embarrassed because I didn't know the proper name for anything and I didn't ever know the protocol. But still, I felt like I could fit in here, like other people were like me somehow.

I was sitting at the kitchen table playing dominos with my aunties and uncle and Aidan and Alex. I had one leg hanging down, and one foot up on the chair, leg bent up against my chest. I sit that way without noticing, but my auntie noticed and told me that that was the way my great grandmother sat. Then one of my mum's childhood friends took me to her mum's house for lunch. Her mum remembered my mum from when she was a teenager. She kept calling me beautiful and telling me that I was a "simple girl" just like my mom.

The city is full of hapas -- half this and half that. In a way it's annoying because being a half-breed is just par for the course here, but it's also weirdly comforting. And then there was the food -- the chili laden, deeply flavored multiethnic food. I figured out why I love to add so much spice to everything I eat. It makes complete sense when you come from a food tradition with such exuberant smells and tastes. So many things to eat and drink that I associate with childhood and comfort -- pineapple tarts, ovaltine, chicken rice, satay, kuay boluh, char kway teow, paratha, chrysanthemum drink, milk tea, barley water, fishballs.

It's strange to think how differently we experience things as we grow up. When I was young, going to Singapore was like going to another planet. Yes, these were my relatives, but I barely knew them. But going back this time, I felt like in some indirect, but powerful way, this country helped define me. Even down to some of its more repressive elements. Perhaps that's why I never had a penchant for flouting authority (or maybe it was growing up in conservative Orange County?)

The casual dress, the obsessive academia, the love of food -- they all spoke to me; so when my cousin Aidan suggested that I move out for a year to take another Masters degree or teach English or do random anthropological research related to food, it sounded like an amazing idea. I've since revised my initial enthusiasm -- for someone who hasn't grown up there, the heat of Singapore simply saps all my life force -- but though it probably won't happen next year, I'm not ruling out the possibility of coming back.

The Singapore skyline as seen from the Flyer

7 days of food fun in Singapore

2008-11-30T10:11:00.000+07:00

Here's what I can remember of my food adventure in Singapore...

Saturday 25 - Popiah, carrot cake, oyster omelette, beef rendang, char kway tieow, that crunchy cup thing, that soupy dessert thing; Fried taro basket with steamed veggies, bitter melon soup, fried shrimp balls, chicken wings, bean curd clay pot, lime & sour plum juice

Sunday 26 - Kopi, tissue paratha, regular paratha, egg paratha; Auntie Bernie's mum's tomato pork soup, mutton in tomato sauce, fish curry with ladies fingers, chicken curry; Tonkatsu at Tonkichi for dinner

Monday 27 - Chicken rice; sambal stingray, soup mee with pork balls, satay, oyster pancake, chicken wings

Tuesday 28 - Kaya toast and eggs; pineapple tarts!; nasi lemak

Wednesday 29 - Goreng pisang & fresh soursop juice at Maxwell; Not so yummy duck noodles, then delicious hazelnut ice cream at the Island Creamery

Thursday 30 - Te haliah, beef mutabak, mee goreng, some yummy curry stuff; Scones with jam and clotted cream, peppermint tea, tea sandwiches and petit fours

Friday 31 - Kaya toast and toast with nutella; chili crab, scallops with fresh veggie, fish maw soup; tau huay & you char kuay at Rochor

Despite my best attempts, there were some things that I just couldn't fit: Fishball soup, soto ayam, bak kuh teh, assam laksa, fish head curry

KAPE Girls' Scholarships

2008-11-27T19:15:00.001+07:00

Another video on one our main programs:

Khmer Food -- Grilled Eel

2008-11-24T20:23:00.002+07:00

Oh man, delicious.

Sambath, our district coordinator, heard that I was leaving and invited us all out for a delicious dinner: peanuts & pickled ginger (nice palate cleanser & that ginger gets your digestion going), beef with skin (beef, yum. skin, not so much) and grilled okra with eel (amazing if their teeth are a little scary).

The call the little sauce bowls "child bowls" and I had no fewer than 4 little children choices for my eel -- salt, pepper and lime, two types of prahok based sauces, and a sauce based on fermented bean curd. YUM.

If only we could have gotten the karaoke going, the night would have been perfection.

Khmer Recipes: Cambodian Ceviche Salad

2008-11-24T20:15:00.005+07:00

Ever since people found out that I am heading back, my amazing coworkers have been inviting me to join them for special foods and festivities. So far, I've made fish amok, eaten grilled eel, had delicious grilled beef skewers with papaya salad, and on Saturday morning, Rith invited me to her house to learn two new traditional Cambodian dishes.

Rith's husband is a police officer and she lives in a house behind the police station, basically in the field better known as the "old prison" just behind my house.I went over around 9am to find Rith and one of her housemates already busy washing veggies and roasting peanuts. As the morning wound on, 5 of Rith's neighbors and their children came over to help chop, pound, slice, fry, marinate, and otherwise contribute to our delicious lunch.

Fresh-roasted peanuts for the ceviche

Cambodian Ceviche Salad (Plear Threi)

For Cevice and Sauce
1 kilo firm white fish*
1/2 cup prahok (fermented fish paste)
1.5 cup lime juice
3 stalks lemongrass
4'' galangal root
1 kaffir lime
3 kaffir lime leaves
2 bulbs garlic
2 cups peanuts, crushed small
bird chilis
1 tbsp salt, or to taste
3 tbsp sugar, or to taste
2 tbsp cooking oil
fish sauce to taste
1/2 cup water
MSG**

Assortment of vegetables:
Cabbage and/or Lettuce
Thai parsley
Holy basil
Banana flower
Banana trunk
Cucumber
Bean sprouts

1) Wash and chop your vegetables. Cabbages or iceberg lettuce can be quartered. Other lettuce should be washed and the leaves separated. For the banana flower, use only the tender top half, not the stem. Cut the top half of the bud in half again, lengthwise, then slice thinly down the moon shape. Keep in a small bowl with lime juice and water to prevent browning. Cut the disk of the banana trunk in half across the diameter and slice similarly. Julienne the cucumber. Blanche bean sprouts to reduce the likelihood of disease. Put everything in the fridge or on ice to chill.

2) Process your raw ingredients: Remove the green leaves at the top of the 3 lemongrass stalks and chop the firm white bottom part. Process in a mortar and pestle or food processor until a uniform fluffy paste and set aside -- you should have about 1.5 cups. Chop the galangal root, process as the lemongrass and set aside -- about 1/2 cup, loosely packed. Remove the skin of the kaffir lime (some white rind is okay -- it will not be bitter) and do the same as with the galangal and lemongrass. Repeat the process with the lime leaves and 2 bulbs of garlic. Chop your prahok until a wet, gray paste. Keep each ingredient separate for now.

3) To make the sauce base, or "krooung"** add 2 tbsp of your reserved galangal, all the lime leaves and lime skin, half your garlic, and 1/4 cup of the lemongrass into your mortar and pestle. Mash together into a paste and set aside.

4) Slice fish thinly (about 2 mm thick). Chop slices into small pieces, no bigger than 2cm x 1cm. It may be easier if your fish is frozen first.

5) To the fish, add salt, sugar, and lime juice and stir well. Add the remaining galangal, lemongrass, garlic and stir. Add 1 cup peanuts and mix it up with your hands. Continue for about 5 minutes, until the fish looks completely opaque (cooked). Squeeze the fish out with your hands, and place in another bowl in the fridge. Reserve the juice.

6) Heat 2 tbsp oil in a medium pot over a high flame. When hot, add prahok and stir well. Fry for 3-4 minutes. The prahok will be very fragrant and should start to froth and bubble in the pot.

7) Turn the heat down to medium, add your "krooung" and stir. Fry for 5-7 minutes. The texture should be somewhat dry, so be careful of burning. Sprinkle in some fish sauce to taste (1-2 tsp should do).

8) Continue stirring and add in the reserved juice from the fish, reducing the heat to low. Add 1/2 cup water and 2 tbsp sugar. Mix until dissolved and then remove from the heat.

Serve sauce in individual small bowls. Individuals can add peanuts and chopped chilis to the sauce, as desired. Put fish and vegetables in the middle. Each person will take a lettuce or cabbage leaf, add veggies and some fish and dip in the sauce. The mixture can also be eaten over white rice.

The fish, all cooked in lime

* Cambodians use a small, whole fish called Threi Riel (money fish). They defin, descale, and degut the fish, smash it flat and then cut it in half with a cleaver. The fish was delicious, but I found the small bones poked at my gums.
** MSG is used liberally in Cambodian cooking, but I tend to leave it out in my recipes.
*** "Krooung" means "ingredients" and is used to describe any number of pastes used for bases in soups, curries, and for marinating meat. Krooung can be as simple as salt, sugar, garlic and MSG, but your typical ones include a combination of galangal, ginger, lemongrass, shallots, turmeric, garlic, and kaffir lime skin.

The tiny guys they used -- I might try a boneless fish, sliced thinly

Another Vid: Kids Learning History and Fixing Ruins

2008-11-23T21:37:00.001+07:00

Jess's Recipes: Sour Citrus Sorbet

2008-11-23T09:42:00.005+07:00

Tiny packages of goodness

Growing up in our house on Valley View street, we had this amazing tangerine tree in our backyard. I used to sit in the tree on autumn afternoons picking the still greenish fruit, peeling off the skin, and meticulously removing all the white stringy stuff so I was left with nothing but the tiny jeweled segments.

These tangerines were small-ish, mostly seedless and flat on both ends (no protruding top like some tangelos). The skin was particularly loose and easy to peel with a relatively dull orange, almost greenish color even when ripe. The fruit itself was heavenly -- tart and sweet -- each slice popped open in your mouth with very little of that nasty thick fibrous segment "wall" that many tangerines tend to have.

I haven't found many tangerines like this since then, until last month they started popping up all around the markets in Kampong Cham. So far I've eaten 3 kilos myself and despite the fact that they're oh-so-delicious just as is, I thought maybe I should to use the little gems for something exciting...

The finished product -- nice and tart

Sour Citrus Sorbet (no ice cream machine necessary)

12 small tangerines (satsuma or robinsons are yummy)
6 Mexican/Asian limes (the small ones)
1 kaffir lime (bumpy skin, available in Asian food stores)
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup water

food processor or blender

1) Zest the kaffir lime. Make sure the zest is small -- it will be going into your sorbet. Don't worry about getting down to the white part because kaffir limes are generally not too bitter.
2) Juice the remaining tangerines and limes, don't strain out the pulp. If you don't have a juicer, separate the seeds with a coarse strainer. You should end up with about 2 cups of juice. Put your juice in the refrigerator to chill.
3) Add sugar, water, and kaffir lime zest to a small saucepan. Cook over medium heat until boiling, then reduce to a simmer for about 10 minutes, or until content has reduced by half, then turn off the heat
4) Add your syrup to the reserved juice and stir well. Pour into a shallow metal dish or ice cube tray and freeze for two hours or until the juice begins to freeze on the sides and top.
5) Take the mixture from the freezer and pulse it in your food processor or blender about ten times. The juice should be frothy and mostly opaque. Put it back in the pan and freeze another 5 hours, until pretty solid.
6) Take the mixture out and pulse it in the blender again. The sorbet should have a smooth, but soft texture and be able to hold its shape. Make into balls and freeze for another hour or so. Serve immediately with extra zest for garnish or put it in a container and cover the surface of the sorbet with plastic wrap to inhibit ice crystals. If your sorbet becomes icy after too long in the freezer, simply give it another whirl in the food processor before serving.

I plan to try different citrus combinations -- pumelo is the next contender, with chili-salt topping! It might also be yummy to add a tbsp or two of Alize, Cointreau or Grand Marnier to smooth out the texture and add a kick, but I haven't tried these myself. Just remember, adding alcohol means a slower freezing time, so if you try it, you may need to increase the suggested time in the freezer.

Kaffir lime for zesting!

Khmer Recipes: Bananas in Coco Milk

2008-11-22T22:05:00.005+07:00

Somart brought this over for a feast the other day and gave me her recipe. I reduced the sugar, but you could add more -- it's really up to your personal preference.

I like to eat this hot with coconut sticky rice or chilled over shaved ice. Yum!

It's a little grey looking, but absolutely scrumptious

Banana & Tapioca Dessert (Jait K'tih)

1.5 cup coconut milk
1/2 cup water
8 mini dessert bananas sliced in half (Lakatan is delicious)
1/4 cup mini tapioca pearls
1/4 cup sugar, or to taste
pinch of salt
1/2 cup coconut cream*

Add coconut milk and water to a pot and heat until boiling. Add soaked tapioca pearls, bring back to a boil and then turn the heat down. Simmer approximately 10 minutes on low until the tapioca becomes soft.

Add sugar and a pinch of salt and stir until dissolved. Then add bananas. Bring the pot back to a simmer and cook 10 minutes more, or until bananas are soft and the mixture is a dull grey color.

Serve hot or cold with extra coconut cream drizzled on the top. This can also be eaten over sticky rice and/or with shaved ice for something different.

*If using a can of coconut milk, you can spoon off the top part of the milk which is usually the thicker, more opaque part and reserve this as the cream. If you're using fresh coconut, the cream comes out the first time you squeeze the coconut with a little bit of boiling water and the milk will come out on the subsequent squeezes when you've added more water.

Home Alone

2008-11-22T20:57:00.001+07:00

Cambodians with their hard-core family values are always shocked when they hear I'm here alone, and constantly asking whether I'm lonely ("op sop?"). At first, the answer was honestly no, there was too much to do and see and cook and think about, but after I came back from a brief jaunt with my family over in the USA, I got a little sad, and sometimes a lot sad -- especially when I didn't keep busy.

I think, though, that even worse than sadness or boredom, is the self-indulgence and egocentrism of living without the norming influence of other people (especially in a place where unannounced visitors are pretty improbable). That's why I think there are certain stigmas associated with living alone that I think are entirely justified. The appearance of Raja the cat circa month 3 doesn't necessarily make things any better -- crazy cat lady is something that still scares any misanthropic tendencies straight out of most young women.

Hermits run around naked in the deep woods and eat snakes and tubers and maybe even psychedelic mushrooms they find lying around. I refrain from the drugs, but I've been known to lie around without a scrap on reading a new book (or, let's be honest here -- watching 4-5 episodes of Gilmore Girls in a row) and eating my refrigerator empty on a Sunday afternoon. No wonder Mr. Sambath noticed the 9 extra kilos. And the #1 problem with this type of behavior is that it's addictive and the further you let yourself go into the antisocial, self-centered spiral, the more difficult it is to dig yourself out. When you become irritable when company's coming because that means you have to put your clothes back on, that's when you know it's gone too far.

The physical seclusion aside, emotional and mental solitude are also tough. Even when I venture out with friends here, it's very difficult to get critical input or opinions on what I'm thinking. I have recently been reflecting on my experience here and considering what I want to do next when I come back and all the ideas floating in my head seem exciting and possible, but also maybe trite and crazy (?) and what I really need is a sounding board.

Me and Raja, home alone.

Fat today

2008-11-22T16:02:00.000+07:00

Before (April)

After (November)

People here in Cambodia tell it like they see it. And the way they see it, I'm fat. Depending on the audience, this fact is positive (healthy), negative (not enough exercise), or neutral (just stating the facts, hon), but there's a resounding consensus that I'm huge and I might not know, so I better be told.

Thankfully, most Cambodians also like my face and whenever I first meet someone, they generally say, wow, she's fat and pretty (toat nung s'art)!

In the past four days, I've had no fewer than 5 comments from 5 individuals:

The lady downstairs: "Your arms are fat again, you ate a lot in Thailand!"
The landlord's wife: "Oh good, you gained some weight back" (she thought I was eating poorly for a few weeks)
My friend Rumdourl, while patting my belly: "Yes, you like to eat on your trips!"
Mr. Sambath, the district coordinator: "Wow Jess, you look very fat today"
My friend Rith's neighbor: "She's so fat, but she still has a waist which is why she's pretty, not like me!"

And my all-time favorite from my best friend in Cambodia, Rumdourl: "Wow Jess, I think you're the fattest foreigner I've ever seen!"

I've gained about 8 kilos or almost 20 lbs since arriving in Cambodia, so comments on my weight are justified, but I'm consistently thrown off by the daily reminders. You'd think all those comments would convince me to start cutting down my rice portion at lunch or start ordering ice coffees without milk, but no... I guess I've resigned myself to it until I get back to the US where people will politely lie while I try to work it off.

Khmer Recipes: Sinang's Fish Amok

2008-11-22T08:51:00.004+07:00

Sitting down to enjoy our lovely amok dinner

Last night, the girls and I got together to make fish amok. This is Sinang's special recipe, though I added some personal notes based on variations that I've seen elsewhere. Amok is your quintessential Cambodian food -- some call it the national dish. It varies across all sorts of dimensions -- from a thin and soupy to solid congealed sauce, from spicy to no heat, from big fish hunks to tiny processed chunks. Some recipes bring out the lemongrass, while others emphasize the kaffir lime taste. But some elements run similar: the dish is always steamed, often wrapped in a banana leaf; kaffir limes always make an appearance; and the sauce always has a curry base with your typical coconut milk and Khmer curry ingredients.

This recipe is for a nicely balanced amok, tending toward a lemongrass-y flavor. The final product is firm, not runny, but beautifully moist so that it separates nicely with your fork over hot white rice. The peanuts play a major role and change the texture from some other recipes. I'm personally ambivalent -- I'm not sure I like the texture mixed in, so I think I would try them as topping or garnish. On the other hand, though this recipe calls for kaffir lime at the end as topping, I personally like it mixed in.

Sinang's Fish Amok (Threi Amok)

Ingredients:
1 kilo river fish
5 cups tender star gooseberry leaves (phyllanthus acidus or sluk gontooik)
Banana leaves made into lidless boats, banana leaves for packets, or small ceramic bowls
5 stalks lemongrass
5 grams large dried chilis, or to taste
about 1 inch fresh galangal
about 1 inch fresh young turmeric
2 cloves garlic
2-3 shallots
zest of 1 kaffir lime
7-8 kaffir lime leaves
4 roots wild ginger (kaemplena galanga or k'chlee-ay)
1.5 tbs. salt
3 tbs. sugar, or to taste
1 tbs. dark shrimp paste (kapi)
3 eggs
2 cups coconut cream (thick coconut milk)
1.5 tsp curry powder
2 cups roasted, crushed peanuts (optional)
1 bunch cilantro (optional)

Special equipment:
mortar & pestle or food processor
pot for steaming

Feeds 6-8 people
Preparation time: 2 hours total, 15 min steaming

Process:
1) Soak dried chilis in a bowl of water to reconstitute.
2) Chop the bottom third of the lemongrass stems, stopping where the stems dry up into leaves. Also chop galangal, turmeric, garlic, shallots, skin of your lime, and about 1 inch wild ginger root very finely.
3) Process ingredients with a mortar and pestle or with your food processor until they make a smooth paste.
4) Chop your chilis finely and process the chilis in a paste. Mix chili paste with amok paste until the desired spiciness. Depending on your audience, you may want to make two batches -- one with chili, one without.
5) Chop your fish into small pieces. The exact size depends on your preference, but pieces should be no thicker than 0.5 cm and no bigger than 3 cm x 3 cm wide. This keeps the steaming time down and ensures that the sauce sets and the fish finishes at the same time.
6) In a large bowl, gently mix pieces of fish with amok paste and coconut cream until evenly coated
7) Continue to combine mixture, adding sugar and salt, shrimp paste, 3 eggs, curry powder, and finally the crushed peanuts. Peanuts can be omitted if desired, or added later for garnish.
8) Take banana leaf boats, bowls, or packets and line the bottom with 2-3 layers of star gooseberry leaves. Add amok mixture to fill the container. Repeat with all the amok mixture.
9) Thinly slice kaffir lime leaves and remaining wild ginger. Top each boat with a few slices of each for flavor. If desired, the leaves and ginger can be mixed in with the original mixture -- this is up to individual preference.
10) Steam packets in a large steamer for 10-15 minutes, or until done.

Garnish with sprigs of cilantro and serve with white rice

Somart and Rumdourl assembling the amok boats

The little amok boats, ready to be steamed

And in the steamer...

Rumdourl opening up the finished product while Elaine looks on...

Integrated Pest Management -- Life Skills Video

2008-11-19T19:40:00.000+07:00

Khmer Food -- Baby duck embryo (aka "egg with baby")

2008-11-07T20:04:00.003+07:00

Quite rightly, the introduction to Jeffrey Steingarten's The Man Who Ate Everything begins with an account of Steingarten's attempt to train himself into the perfect omnivore. He begins oh-so-methodically by listing in order the foods that make him gag, that he simply detests, that he doesn't particularly like, and so on, and then proceeds through a narrative of how he conquers (or mostly conquers) his distaste for each offending food.

Steingarten's personal journey inspired me (though I found his hatred of falafel simply baffling!) and reminded me of my own hard-fought victory over my hatred of mustard, and the certain slow-battles to find my peace with select crustaceans and with fungi. In general, I'm proud at most of my attempts at food egalitarianism and Steingarten's essay pumped me up for new explorations BUT then, Steiny (to my knowledge) didn't have to deal with this particular Cambodian delicacy.

Porng Tier Goan -- Duck egg with baby!

Yum. I felt I took a big step in even putting my face so close to this delightful morsel. My companion half-apologized for choosing this for his snack instead of a delicious & fresh papaya salad, or nicely processed, beakless, featherless chicken skewer, explaining that he needed the "power" from the three baby ducks because he had been feeling a bit tired lately.

Khmer Food -- Bananas with peel & beef stomach

2008-11-06T15:02:00.000+07:00

I'm in Mondulkiri this week for work, and I asked my coworkers what the specialty is in this region. Their favorite local dish is (yum!) cow's stomach, so tonight, we headed over to an outdoor restaurant that's known for grilled meats and this delicacy.

The seven of us walked to the back of the restaurant near the kitchen. The place had 10 or so tables -- a tin roof over a dirt floor littered with balled up paper napkins and various debris, a typical Khmer establishment. sat down in our plastic chairs around a low table. One person had brought along two plastic bags of precooked rice from a roadside stand. On one end of the table, there was a small wooden stool, and on this stool was perched a sturdy wooden cooking pail with glowing hot charcoal inside. The owner of the establishment came over, poked the fire a bit, and handed us a metal rack with a handle and a small pair of tongs.

Next, the servers brought out three heaping plates of fresh veggies (yum!) -- sliced carrots, cucumber, cabbage, green peppers and eggplant -- and two more plates of thinly sliced banana flower and oval slices of bananas with the peel still on. Since this was a grilling establishment, I thought the bananas were for grilling, but my compatriots immediately fell upon the platter, so despite my misgivings about the deliciousness of banana peel (even the monkeys peel it off!) I joined in and delicately picked up a slice with my chopsticks and tried it. Immediately my entire mouth went dry and I decided one was enough and I'd stick to the pretty pink and white mound of flower shavings.

Soon after, our server came back with a tray of sauces -- a soup bowl of gray, thick concoction, highly pungent and topped with a bunch of peanuts -- and tiny trays of salt & pepper mix, limes, garlic slices, and extra peanuts. I was instructed that the grey sauce was Prahok, a general term for a myriad of pastes, sauces, gums, and spreads of all consistencies and colors, made of fermented fish. I dipped a chopstick in gingerly and decided it was delicious, so I poured myself a small tray and started dipping my veg.

Seconds later, two noodle bowls full of raw, red meat and a large platter of a gray and black, bumpy, almost hairy-looking meat arrived at our table. The beef smell was unmistakable. I promised them I'd try almost anything at least once, so I immediately took the smallest piece of stomach I thought I could (mua-ha-ha) stomach, and popped it in my mouth. The consistency was as it looked -- tough and chewy -- and the taste was as it smelled -- beefy beyond beefy. I'm quite sure it had no flavoring -- it looked boiled. It definitely would have benefited from a dip in the Prahok, but I wanted the unadulterated experience. I can't tell you exactly what my revulsion was, but if I'm honest, I think it had more to do with the presentation and the texture than with the taste.

Mr. Yu, grilling meats.

Eventually, we got round to the grilled meats -- some more delightful offal, and eventually some pieces of steak, which my colleagues (dear, dear folks that they are) pressed upon me with admonitions that I would need the "power" from the beef to push the car through the knee-deep mud of Mondulkiri roads the next day.

Biking Vienna to Kampong Cham

2008-10-29T19:58:00.000+07:00

About a month ago, I signed up on couchsurfing.com. Jaime had recently moved to Edmonton and been hosted by a totally cool Canuck, so I thought I would try to do my karmic part and reciprocate. After all, I have this great big apartment with a whole empty room, complete with two large beds and a hot shower -- all to myself. Since my half-hearted attempts to find a real roommate had failed, I figured this was a way to fill my room, and possibly meet some nifty people along the way.

I've had a few requests, but the only person to actually make it all the way to my doorstep was Dorothee, a German cyclist who was in month 8 of a round-the-world trip. From her launch-point in Vienna, Dorothee traveled over 19,000 km through Eastern Europe along the Danube, through Russia, Mongolia, China, Vietnam and so on before she hit Kampong Cham.

Dorothee and her trusty steed

I set Dorothee up with my buddy Vandong, a monk at Wat Nokor who founded a Buddhism and Development organization that teaches English and does small projects in the local community. She was looking for a temporary volunteer opportunity, and Vandong and the BSDA staff needed someone to help them design a lesson plan template for their English classes. This was Dorothee's first experience seeing any kind of education in Cambodia (or elsewhere on her travels) and she couldn't get over the shock of seeing the monks standing up in front of a class, reading a newspaper for an hour straight as the "lesson." Needless to say, she learned a lot in her short stint, and I'm sure the monks got something out of it as well.

I wasn't sure how much Dorothee had to tell and retell her story over the past 8 months, so I tried not to be too pushy, but after spending a couple of days together, I found out that biking along the Danube was gloriously beautiful, people were friendliest in Mongolia (yak's milk & cheese anyone?), and the Chinese police were the most suspicious.

The thing I enjoyed most about the whole experience was Dorothee's obvious enjoyment of life and her total independence. At 45, she had worked 17 years at her company, and had taken cycling vacations all over the globe. She wasn't married, had no kids, and seemed completely happy. Her enjoyment of life was obvious from her amazing stories and her cheerfulness. Everything about her just seemed so glowing and healthy. Though I couldn't (and wouldn't necessarily want to) live her life (19,000 km + is a bit much for me), I definitely aspire to be as completely fulfilled as Dorothee seemed by her life. I guess the thing to learn from her and her cycling adventure is how to enjoy the journey -- not just where you're trying to go, but also the sights, smells, and people you meet along the way.

After a couple of days with Dorothee, I had to head out for a trip to Singapore, but she stayed on in my house a couple of days to finish up her project. By now, I expect she's made it past Kratie and on up to Laos. She'll head from there through SE Asia to Australia and then across the US back to Europe. She's promised to write in Hawaii so we can try to meet up. If you sprechen Deutsch, you can check out Dorothee's progress here.

The (food) price is right

2008-10-26T08:18:00.006+07:00

Here's an overview of the basic prices of food in Kampong Cham. It's a good overall indicator of the general cost of living in town. Meat tends to be pretty expensive, relatively speaking, but I tend to eat very little of it so my grocery costs per week are around $15 if I splurge on some dairy.

I'm back in the States in December, and I shudder to think about what I'm going to have to pay for a carrot.

For reference, the street exchange is 4000 riel to one dollar (bank exchange is more like 4200/$1 or so)

1 big carrot = 600 r
1 green pepper = 600 r
1 kilo katna ( or most other green leafy veg) = 3500 r
1/2 kilo beansprouts = 1500 r
1/2 kilo greenbeans = 500 r
1/2 kilo eggplant = 500 r

1/2 kilo s'vai (mango) = 5000 r
1 kilo kroich ch'ma (limes)= 2000 r
1 small pineapple = 1500 r
1 kroich t'long (pumelo) = 3000 r
1 kilo kroich touch (tangerines) = 3500 r
1 kilo pomme (apples) = 5000 r
2 pomegranates = 2500 r
1 kilo grapes = 13000 r
1 kilo dragonfruit = 3000 r
1 watermelon (1.5 k) = 2000 r
1 bunch bananas = 800 r
1 kilo rambutan = 2000 r

1 coconut = 2800 r
5 grams basil, mint, etc. = 200 r
1 bunch (5 stalks) lemongrass = 200 r
1 kilo onions = 2500 r
1 kilo garlic = 1500 r
1 kilo shallots = 2500 r
2.5 grams turmeric bulbs = 200 r
5 grams kaffir lime leaves = 400 r
5 grams chilis = 300 r

1 kilo potatoes = 4000 r
1 kilo good quality rice = 3000 r
2 pats of fresh noodles = 500 r
1 kilo flour = 4000 r
1 dried noodle pack = 300 r
1 "big" loaf of French bread = 1000 r

10 duck eggs = 4800 r
4 blocks tofu = 1,600 r
1 kilo beef = 20,000 r
1 kilo pork = 20,000 r
1 chicken = 20,000 r
1 kilo fish = 13,000 r
1/2 kilo peanuts = 3000 r

1 box milk = $1.80
1 yogurt = $0.60
1 bag of granola = $4.80
1 bottle of decent red wine = $8.00
1 box of Khong Guan biscuits = $4.20
1 loaf of sliced bread = $1.00
1 can of the good brand of coconut milk = $1.20
1 jar of peanut butter = $3.50
1 knock-off Magnum ice cream bar = $1.20

Top Ten Khmer Foods: #1 Ban Chao

2008-10-23T08:09:00.006+07:00

1) Ban Chao -
Ban Chao is a thin savory crepe made with turmeric, eggs, water and rice flour, filled with bean sprouts and your choice of ground meat and veg, and eaten with a lush array of green veggies. The glory of Ban Chao is in the procedure. It's eaten with the hands -- pick a perfect lettuce leaf, fill it with your choice of the veggies and leafy greens provided (amaranth, water convolvulus, chyrsanthemum leaves, cabbage, cucumber, basil, mint, water mimosa, and other curious Cambodia-only green things). Then tear off a piece of crepe and filling, wrap up the whole glorious flavor packet, and dip it into the sweet, garlicky dipping sauce.

Making Ban Chao filling with pork

Making the crepes

The finished product

And the veggie medley

How the experts operate

Yum!

* Ban Chao's Vietnamese equivalent is Ban Xeo (pronounced roughly the same way). The Vietnamese equivalent is often made a bit crispier with more oil in the pan while frying, and can sometimes have the ingredients embedded in the batter rather than included after the crepe is almost cooked.

To market to market...

2008-10-22T17:04:00.000+07:00

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig.
Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog.
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun.
Home again, home again, market is done.

Marketing is one of my favorite activities in Kampong Cham, and there's no dearth of variety -- from the main Psah Tom (big market), a pungent labyrinthine jungle of dried shrimp, just-butchered meats, fresh fruit, cookware, clothes, to the unassuming but oh-so-convenient Psah Sala Chun (Chinese School market) where I go for fresh veg after work.

A friend of Les Frenchies at Psah Sala Chun

But my favorite place to shop is the morning market at Psah Bangkot. The real action gets started around 5 in the morning. By then, most of the greengrocers have settled back onto their heels, surrounded by their multicolored produce, the fishmongers have set out their huge aluminum basin of writhing eels and fish, the piles of pineapple are stacked just so, the squeals of slaughtered pigs have just cleared from the air, and the breakfast ladies have started to light the fires under the huge Lot Cha woks.

I park my blue bicycle in the designated area and pick up a slip from the attendant, roll up my pants, then head into the fray with my co-op tote slung over my shoulder. At this market, I have a few favorites: my pork lady, who sweats under her precious pink and white frilly bonnet as she deftly hacks and slices choice cuts with her cleaver. Then there's egg woman who runs a no-nonsense operation. I like her because she delivers my ten eggs nestled in a bit of straw, and she always serves customers in the order they come. Fair and equal.

If I need beef, I head inside where ladies perch on raised concrete stands, hunks of the good stuff hanging from hooks around their heads, viscera and other odds and ends on display in front, often a bucket with skin on a stool just in front. Some employ switches to wave away the flies, some seem not to notice, but my favorite lady keeps her choice cuts in plastic and produces them with a magic white-toothed grin when she sees me coming.

Inside, I can also get tofu, beansprouts and delicious pats of fresh snow-white noodles, which are wrapped up in giant lily-pads (lotus leaves) and deposited with titters in my canvas bag. Just down the row from the tofu, past the bags of tobacco and rolling paper, begin the stalls of housewares. Here, I'll usually stop to commisserate with another friend who asks where I'm going, tells me about an accident with her arm, and then offers me a good price on plastic bowls for my kitchen. Just a week ago, I got some great chopping knives for just $3.

This is a morning place. By 8, the market is too hot to enjoy and by 10 or 11, it's a ghostland, but in the early hours, it's a gorgeous world of mud and meat and leaves and real food.

A new kind of computer for rural Cambodian schools

2008-10-22T14:40:00.003+07:00

This is a video I originally produced in Khmer for one of our projects, just translated into English.

This year, the ESCUP project in Cambodia installed the first solar-powered thin client lab in a Cambodian high school. Thin client labs are cheaper to set-up than a traditional lab, reduce energy use by 88%, and are easier to upgrade and maintain.

Top Ten Khmer Foods: #2 Pork Rice with sauce and picked papaya, carrot & cucumber

2008-10-22T06:32:00.003+07:00

2) Pork Rice with sauce & pickled papaya, carrot and cucumber
This dish is so ubiquitous, and I've eaten it so many times here in Cambodia that I was tempted to put this number one. It certainly wins for the dish that I could eat and eat day after day without my enthusiasm flagging. The concept is simple, a winning formula for Khmer-food success: meat over rice, plus sauce.

The barbeque pork has some qualities of Chinese char-siew, but the cut of meat is thinner, and it has some of the lemongrassy tendencies of the pork they use in Vietnamese Bun. The best locales serve this over heaping rice with a small bit of chopped fried egg and some scallions. On the side, the classiest joints will have three small accompaniments: a bowl of hot broth, a medium size sauce bowl with thin slices of pickled papaya, carrot and cucumber, and a smaller bowl of the thin sweet, garlic, chili sauce that's used in so many Cambodian meals.

Before

After

My new Fancy Fro-Yo maker

2008-10-21T19:35:00.000+07:00

They say necessity is the mother of invention. I probably didn't need frozen yogurt for dessert tonight, but I sure did want it.

I don't know if it's a result of having more time or if it's the skillful improvisation techniques of the people around me (the bread man in the morning making a horn from an empty dish-detergent bottle, and the kids at the American corner hammering poster frames from bamboo), but here in Cambodia I seem to feel some sort of urge to create. The fact that I can't always get the "perfect" materials makes my little projects all the more fun.

So tonight, when I felt like a sweet frozen treat, instead of heading to the gas station (the purveyor of all things dairy), I poked my head into the icebox to see what I could see.

My three new precious cups of vanilla yogurt caught my eye and I thought...

~What ho!
In this heat,
what better treat
than a nice, home-made
fro-yo~

So I found an empty plastic tub with a screw on lid and poured in my yogurt and a little extra sugar. I put the tub in my "Fancy" maker, then I took out my cleaver, banged up some ice chips, and poured them in between the two containers with some generous spoonings of salt.

Then I sat on the floor of my apartment and rolled my cylinders back and forth while watching a couple of Ted Talks and voila! 20 minutes later, yogurt delight to rival Purplemango, Greenkiwi, Chartruselychee and whatever other frozen yogurt stores are out there these days.

Medicated

2008-10-21T06:37:00.003+07:00

I went to the doctor for the first time in Kampong Cham last week. I convinced Rumdourl to leave work a little bit early to make the visit and we headed off on my moto to the market to look for the ENT guy who supposedly had an office near Rumdourl's family cell phone shop.

It took a bit of doing, but finally we located the right doctor. The "office," like most here in town, was the bottom story of somebody's home. When we walked in, the doctor's wife (also the nurse, receptionist and pharmacist) let us know that he was out, but would be back in 15.

The first thing I noticed walking in was an entire wall of framed certificates, a rectangle of rectangles at least 5 x 6 wide. Above there were blown up prints of the doctor's family hanging out in Singapore and at Angkor Wat.

There was a small counter just inside the door which served as the pharmacy, and next to that was a big wooden platform where the family was sitting. On the opposite side of the room was a wooden bench (the waiting room).

The wall behind me was covered with posters touting various medical maladies -- skin conditions, ear conditions -- from the banal to the grotesque. Rumdourl was obviously disturbed and she told me that this was why she could never be a doctor -- she would never be able to eat anything delicious again.

The doctor eventually returned on his moto in a grungy white t-shirt, shorts and plastic slippers. He headed straight into the examination room in the back. From my perch on the bench, I strained to see if he was washing his hands (he was!). The nurse sprayed what I thought might be disinfectant around the room; when I went in later, I saw (and smelled) that it had just been air freshener.

Rumdourl explained my issue -- I had had an ear infection two weeks before and my hearing was still muted since then. The doctor could speak some English, so he reassured me and began preparing his nifty medical toys. This guy was obviously a gadget geek -- he seemed to have more and better equipment than the clinics I had been to in Phnom Penh. He started up his computer and turned on a big machine. The machine turned out to be a camera that could look right up into your ear. He even had a wall mounted TV, so I could see what was going on, and he took a picture for me to take home. Nifty!

Eventually, he decided that my ears were no longer infected and I had nothing blocking them, but that I must have an issue with my Eustacian tubes.

He prescribed me a barrage of medications (5 in all) which ended up making me really dizzy, and didn't exactly clear up the problem.

Oh well. Upon return to the states, I plan to have an exhaustive physical and then make a new proactive health plan to get myself back in working order.

Top Ten Khmer Foods: #3 Lot Cha

2008-10-20T14:58:00.000+07:00

3) Lot Cha
These noodles are a breakfast favorite at the market, but they're really delicious any time of day. Their unique shape, which on first glance look unsettlingly close to short, squat worms, make for a firm, but chewy texture-party in your mouth, but it's the sauce that separates ok Loat Cha from heaven. The noodles are fried in a little bit of soy sauce, oyster sauce + other mystery liquid goodness with sprouts, green veg, and your choice of egg and meat. But the real flavor comes from the sweet and spicy, extra-garlicky sauce that's served alongside. I like to eat mine loaded down with extra chili.

Phnom Penh Prisoner (happy ending)

2008-10-19T14:25:00.003+07:00

Friday afternoon, I headed out to Phnom Penh hoping for a night out and some general fun on the town. It was my Pepy buddies' last weekend in Phnom Penh before heading out to their new office in Siem Reap, plus Friday night was the re-opening of the Pontoon, a floating club on the Mekong which sank back in July after a night of too much party.

I made it into town around 6 and headed for Lauren's house. All the occupants were out for the weekend, but they left the keys with their sweetheart landlady Eng. After a twenty minute conversation about the pros and cons of living in the US (Eng lived in Milpitas for over a dozen years), she let me in whereupon I proceeded straightaway to turn on a fan, plop down on the couch and sigh.

I got in touch with Achaya, Allison and Matt to get the rough plan for the night. Since no one was sure about food, I decided to splurge and order pizza delivery. When I come out to Phnom Penh, I tend to indulge in all the pleasures that I just can't get back in the KC, so I only felt a little guilty about vegging out for the next couple of hours with some good reading material and a perfect veggie feta thin-crust pizza.

Eventually around 10, Allison called and told me they were heading over to a bar nearby, so I hopped to, brushed off the crumbs, and started to get ready. 10 minutes later I bounded down the stairs, only to realize that Eng had locked me in. There were two extra heavy duty padlocks on the inside of the house gate. Given my lack of Parkour skills, I was trapped.

Twas a pity, but I was sleepy anyhow, so I curled back into my book, read for awhile, and then headed off for sleep.

The next day, I woke up bright and early, made a quick plan and then headed out to breakfast. First stop was Java cafe where I had a bagel (yum!) and housemade yogurt (double-yum!) and a big mug of coffee. Oh how the little things make such a difference to me here! -- sitting on a cafe balcony on a Saturday morning, surrounded by plants, eating a BAGEL and drinking real coffee. What a delight.

I prolonged the luxury of the experience with a Will Shortz puzzle and amused myself by eavesdropping on the 20-something graphic designer beside me who was giving a friend advice on how to procure Kanye tickets.

Afterwards, I walked out along the river towards Bohr's used book store where I wasted 30 minutes carefully browsing all the titles on their 2 shelves, and finally choosing two (photocopies, of course). As I left the bookshop, the light suddenly changed and the ever-present clouds took on a slightly ominous cast.

I decided it would pass and continued on my planned route to the huge Himawari Hotel where I got myself a day pass and headed out to the glorious pool. In fact the pool wasn't that glorious when I arrived. It was grey and drizzly and I was the only person around. The attendants in their jaunty maroon uniforms came out to rearrange the lounge chair cushions so they'd remain dry. They gave me incredulous looks so that I was afraid they were about to drag me out as a precaution against ... what exactly? not getting wet? But I was left unharrassed, and true to my prediction, the sun came back within 10 minutes and within 20 minutes of that, there were 20 people in and around the pool.

I sat out and read my book and whenever lines of sweat started dripping down my forehead into my eyes, I'd jump back in the pool and swim a few laps in between Korean speedo-boy and aqua-robics hippie lady.

After 3 hours or so, the folks beside me ordered lunch and the smell of french fries reminded me that I had other things to do that day.

I arranged myself and headed off to the Russian market where I bargained and sweated my way into various souveniers for friends and family back home. Since I'm heading back in December, I figured I would rather break up the present-buying affair into a few manageable episodes rather than one, stressful hagglefest. Then, pleased with my fortitude and laden with packages, I grabbed a motoman to take me to pick up my stuff at Lauren's, and then on to post-market relaxation.

True to the indulgence theme, my next stop was my favorite spa in town, Aziadee. For $8, I got 60 minutes of pure bliss from a super-strong Khmer lady who rubbed and pulled and kneaded until I was a happy jelly mess on the mat on the floor.

Once that was done, I was ready to go. I made a quick stop off at Lucky Supermarket for cat litter and one of their awesome custard tarts, and then hopped on the bus home.

Top Ten Khmer Foods: #4 Kway Tieov Beef Noodles

2008-10-19T07:12:00.003+07:00

4) Kway Tieov beef noodles
Rice noodle soup's a staple in many Asian cuisines -- the Vietnamese have their Pho, the Malay have Assam Laksa, there's Burmese Mohinga and Indonesian Soto Ayam. But there's something special going on with the beef Kway Tieov at a small roadside restaurant across from the Tbong Khmum district hospital 30 km outside of Kampong Cham Town. Unlike traditional Khmer Kway Tieov broth, which is generally a clear broth with a pork or beef + fish base, this broth is a dark red, rich soya beef bonanza, very similar to Taiwanese hong shao style beef noodle soup. The noodles come seeped in this miracle broth, topped with greens and falling-apart-tender chunks of beef and are served with a side of bean sprouts and fresh limes. The shameless Cambodians like to add MSG, but I skip that and go for some crunchy dried onions. I'll also daintily dip my beef chunks in chili before placing them gently on my tongue to melt. These are for early-rises only because people come for miles and the noodles run out by 8am or so.

Top Ten Khmer Foods: #5 Kampot Pepper Beef

2008-10-18T18:54:00.000+07:00

5) Kampot Pepper Beef
According to my oh-so-trusty Lonely Planet Guide, top French chefs still pay homage to the key ingredient in this dish. Kampot pepper is prized not only by Cambodians, but also by its former-colonizers for its unique, fruity, oh-so-peppery taste. When Jaime and I ordered "green pepper beef" at the best restaurant in Sihanoukville (M'loop Mien!), we expected a green pepper like this:

But what we got was a lot better. This dish uses the fresh green, uncured peppercorns straight from the tree.

Slices of beef are fried with a lot of oil and other juicy delights (soy, fish sauce, and what other wonders?), shallots, and stems of shiny lime-green pepper pods. You pull the tiny green balls off the stem with your teeth and they pop open in your mouth in a delicious, spicy medley that complements the meaty beef. I found myself tilting the dish to spoon up the last dregs of the pepper-infused sauce to eat over plain rice.

Top Ten Khmer Foods: #6 Omlette with Minced Pork and Cured Fish and Fresh Veggies

2008-10-18T06:32:00.000+07:00

6) Omlette with Cured Fish and fresh Veggies
Faint-of-heart travelers miss out on some of the best dishes in Cambodia because of their reluctance to eat fresh veggies. This dish is particularly scary because the accoutrements -- fresh cabbage, green beans, cucumbers, and carrots, are often served on ice (oh no!) in order to keep them cool and fresh while you partake. The omelette itself is unassuming, but its simplicity is decieving. The taste of the famous Cambodian sun-dried fish (Trei Ngiet or Trei Prama) and minced pork transforms a familiar eggy friend into a deep flavourful experience, sweetly complemented by the mini-bowl of chopped bird chilis and fish sauce that's meant to be rationed out over each bite. This fish sauce concoction is a regular accompaniment to Khmer dishes and is also used as a terrific dipping sauce for the fresh veggies.

Smoked fish, ready for action.
from Flickr, ndnbrunei

Top Ten Khmer Foods: #7 Ginger Fish

2008-10-17T06:42:00.001+07:00

7) Ginger Fish
This is a super-simple dish that I've seen done deliciously with eel, fish, chicken, and wild boar. I like fish the best because the flaky white flesh of the Cambodian river fish seems to go perfectly with the deep fried ginger and scallions. It's a simple stir fry that throws all its eggs into one basket -- into the ginger basket, to be precise. The best versions include some fresh chopped bird chilis and have enough sauce to spoon over your piping hot white rice.

Top Ten Khmer Foods: #8 Fish Amok

2008-10-16T19:18:00.003+07:00

8) Fish Amok
The guidebooks call Fish Amok the national dish of Cambodia, but an informal survey of 10 Cambodian (female) colleagues confirms that only 2 know how to cook Amok, and even they are a bit iffy. The variations of amok are as varied as the species of fish in Cambodia (which is to say, very varied) -- thin sauce to gelatinous; red, white, to slightly green; wrapped in banana, or placed on a bed of greens -- but the general idea remains the same, boneless fish chunks steamed in a light coconut curry. The essential aromatic ingredients of Amok are lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves which give it a citrusy, fresh flavor which complements the fish better than your traditional Khmer curry sauce. I tend to like the deep red variations because they're spicier and thicker seems better because generally the cook has used the richest part of the coconut milk. I give extra points for the banana leaves, but only because of the presentation.

Bargaining for Amok ingredients.

Top Ten Khmer Foods: #9 Beef Lok Lak

2008-10-15T23:11:00.000+07:00

9) Beef Lok Lak
The Brits must share my love for this dish because most Khmer restaurant menus have a special entry for Lok Lak English style -- with a fried eggs and chips instead of plain old rice. Cambodian's Lok Lak is similar to their Eastern neighbor's mouthwatering Shaken Beef (Vietnamese call it Luc Lac, sound familiar?) though it would be treason to say so to any Cambodian. The fried beef cubes are served with tomato and onion slices, generally atop a bed of fresh lettuce. Like with so many dishes here, the make-or-break component of amazing Lok Lak is the dipping sauce, a salt-and-peppery lime-based sauce that makes even the toughest Cambodian cow taste good. I've never ordered English style because as much as I love a fried egg, I don't think chips could come close to the experience of a piece of beef dunked in Lok Lak sauce atop a spoon of white rice.

Unsuspecting cows, pre Lok Lak

Top Ten Khmer Foods: #10 Noam Ban Chop, Namja Style

2008-10-15T06:11:00.003+07:00

This kicks off a ten part series on my very favorite foods in Cambodia. Coming in at number ten on the list:

10) Noam Ban Chop, Namja style

True Khmer noodles come in three styles, defined by the broth -- curry, keuv (blue), and namja (meaning unclear). The noodles are eaten at room temperature with an assortment of greens, dependent on the region, the season, and the establishment. My favorite is namja, the reddish brown coconut, shrimp, and peanut based broth, smothering fresh white rice noodles. Like all Khmer noodles, Namja is meant to be augmented by your personal addition of bean sprouts, leafy greens, chilis and a quick squeeze of lime from the communal tray. But the best part about Namja comes when you dig under the mound of sticky fresh noodles and come upon the secret treasure of cucumber slivers and round rings of thinly sliced elephant flower.

At a stall just outside of Phnom Penh. A bowl of noodles runs at $0.32 a pop.

Yum. This is actually keuv (or blue) style, but you get the picture.

funk city

2008-10-12T07:10:00.001+07:00

This has been the week of the funk. A deep, pathetic funk that settled like a large alien object way down deep into the pit of my stomach, so that I felt too heavy to get out of bed in the morning and couldn't concentrate on anything I was supposed to be working on. The seed of funk was planted way back in August when Jaime came to visit and I took the trip home for a few days.

It took some time to germinate. I kept busy with movie making, new friends, trips out to Phnom Penh, and various illness, but eventually it sprouted into an ugly, self-pitying, anxiety-ridden goblin that fed on feelings of isolation, uselessness, and insecurity about the future.

I'm trying various forms of therapy -- company for Pchum Ben, long bike rides, recruiting my coworkers for various social outings -- but this exorcism appears to be taking some patience and dedication to ongoing self-treatment.

My prescription combines lots of happy music, exercise, riding my moto with my hair flying in the wind, looking forward to trips out to the field and to my travel plans in Singapore and Thailand, meditating on self-affirming phrases ("Yes, I'm healthy, happy and strong"), and forcing myself to be social even when I would rather ball up under a sheet tent in my bed.

Discos down south

2008-10-09T19:03:00.001+07:00

Last week, I had a few days off for Pchum Ben (a Cambodian celebration of ancestors), so I headed down to Phnom Penh with a plan to meet up with some friends heading south to the beaches. I arrived in the city with a terrible earache and ended up spending 3 days curled up prone, half in tears, on the couch of my dear friend Lauren. Eventually, Lauren took charge and brought me to a Francophone doctor (no English speaking medical professionals in Phnom Penh apparently) who prescribed me a barrage of heavy duty antibiotics. (My time in Cambodia has made me into something approaching a feedlot cow in terms of doses of antibiotics consumed per month, and my digestive track is most definitely devoid of any and all good critters.)

Thankfully, the meds cleared up the pain, and on the morning of day 4, I was able to hop on a bus out to Kep to meet up with a small crew of friends who had all made it down in the previous 2-3 days and were already a day or two deep into hard partying. It was a good night despite not being able to hear from one ear -- good music, good food, good company, dancing, and a sea breeze.

The next day, we had breakfast at the Led Zep cafe -- burritos which tasted more like pizzas in pitas -- and said goodbye to one of our crew who was headed back to Phnom Penh, then we rocketed off to Kampot. Jam and Matt had ridden down on bikes they borrowed from their NGO (a eco/development-tourism business called Pepy where they both are volunteers), so they sweated it out the 30 or so kilometers. Achaya speed off dangerously on his rented crotch rocket, and Alison and I lived it up in the back of a vacationing family's truck.

Kampot was sleepy as usual, but so were we after the previous night, and the plan was head out ASAP. The idea was to stash the bikes, rent motos and make like Charlie's Angels onwards to Sihanoukville. However, post-coffee, rain still spitting down, our not-so-tough crew decided that riding was out and so we went van-hunting. Eventually, after much incredulous eyebrow raising and reminders of "holiday prices," we settled on a share taxi for $5/head and $5/bike.

Jam was strapped and in a nasty mood. Lucky for him, his whining and empty threats to just stay in Kampot alone were met with good natured cajoling and convincing by his friends, so after much hee-ing and haw-ing (and rolling of the eyes by yours truly) he stashed his bike on the van and hopped on the motorcycle with Achaya.

The unwitting and unlucky rest of the crew (Matt, Allison and I) pile in the back row of the van next to Mr. McDrunkerson who proceeded to grab me and attempt to lay one on before Matt graciously offered to switch seats. 5 hours, one new oil filter, one new van, 3 roadside Anchors courtesy of Mr. Tipsy, and many drunken-Cambodian-anecdotes later (songs about seahorses, anyone?), we finally arrive in Sihanoukville ready for a shower and a drink.

Later that night, we end up at the dark empty venue where they host crocodile and snake shows during the day. Apparently, one of our party was mistakenly informed that this was an "off-the-hook" night spot. On the upside, the tuk-tuk trip afforded a crazy roller-coaster ride up and down the hills of Sihanoukville, the clear highlight of the night.

Eventually we find ourselves at seedy Khmer night club with a cover charge of $4 (free beer included), unflattering blue lights, and creepy staring bouncers. Allison and I are clearly the tallest people on the dance-floor, and we become the unofficial hubs around which the smaller energetic contingent eddies and swirls. The Cambodian boys dance together holding hands. They shake it like they mean it, and scream out loud with ecstatic arm gestures and coordinated pelvic thrusts at appropriate moments while the girls stand around swaying slightly and looking more than a little embarrassed.

Then, amidst all the joy and chaos, the crazy cat who's still sore about his mistake with the abandoned croc farm disappears. Those concerned for his welfare recognize this as a cry for attention and accommodatingly text him messages of love and concern. Croc boy is found upstairs, and we eventually convince him to head back to the hotel with the rest of us. We drink some bad vodka and chat and some of us stay very quiet, meditating on how we wish croc boy was left behind. This uncharitableness can be partially blamed on croc boy's non-stop verbal outbursts, bragging about about how his Hindi advantage got him into the VIP lounge and chastising us for dragged him away from the apparent apogee of the S-town social scene.

The next day, Matt was in a bad way with his stomach and the other boys were knackered, so Alison and I headed down to the beach for awhile. We whiled away the day in various ways, but ended up all together again around 6pm for the first drink of the evening.

I'm 23, but rarely do I feel that age. Instead, my feelings and actions swing from those of a 10-years old to someone around 35, only occasionally (uncomfortably, unnaturally) ending up somewhere in between. That particular night, I started as an old 35, not in the mood for the drinking, party, flirt with random strangers thing. I was very thankful to meet Elida, a friend of Achaya's (actually his ex-boss) who provided some interesting conversation, agreed to dance, and didn't seem to mind that my libations were only half-hearted. Then, croc and I had a tiff. The others tried to mediate, but I made like a pre-teen girl and he made like a reptile, and though things were smoothed over, I still felt disgusted. (Who tries to excuse their anti-social behavior by likening themselves to Mother Teresa?)

The next morning, I was up at 7am to a glorious sunny day. The rest of the contingent slept while I headed out to the beach for a small sunning. Then I called Elida and we headed out in her SUV to a secluded beach where we swam and splashed and sunned and built a mini-version of Angkor Wat in the sand and felt completely content when our castle was recognized by the small Cambodian children frolicking about us.

Eventually we headed back to meet up with Elida's fiance and after a small dip in her hotel pool, I headed back to Phnom Penh.

America Idol(ized)

2008-09-19T19:14:00.012+07:00

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me to become a co-facilitator of the American Club at the American Corner here in Kampong Cham. The American Club, for the curious, is funded by the American Embassy* and has the unabashed goal of trying to bring American culture to teenage Cambodians. Students get access to the American Corner -- internet-connected computers, an extensive library of books, magazines and videos in English -- as well as funds for field trips and a qualified youth coordinator (my friend Kosal) in exchange for their rapt attention to all things American.

Needless to say, I was skeptical, but my curiosity and concern outweighed the qualms and I showed up on a Sunday to figure out what this was all about.

My first Sunday in attendance, the students were frantically working on presentations for a special visit from a representative from the American embassy the next week. The 40+ students were divided into 4 groups, and each had chosen a topic of special interest related to American culture: the elections, the Statue of Liberty, the Grand Canyon, and the top 10 solo artists in the US. Kosal asked me to visit each group as the so-called "expert" on all things American, so I got busy chatting with each group and answering their questions best I could.

The total disconnect between these kids' reality and their imagined concept of America is stunning, and only exacerbated by these activities promoted by the club. America, for them, seems to be a homogeneous mass of folks** interested in pop music, beautiful outdoors scenery and freedom.

The next week, Kosal gave me an hour and I organized an activity that compared Cambodia and the US in ways that I hoped would challenge and broaden their concept of both my country and their own. The game show questions included things like:

-- Approximately how many children are born per woman in the US? How about in Cambodia? a) 1 and 3.5 b) 0.5 and 4 c) 2 and 3 d) 1.5 and 5***
-- True or False. The US is one of the worst countries in the world in terms of carbon dioxide emissions that cause global warming.
-- Approximately what percent of people work in agriculture in the US and Cambodia? a) 10% and 60% b) 5% and 79% c) 3% and 90% d) 0.6% and 80%
-- What place did the US 15-year-olds rank in math out of a study of 30 developed countries?
-- What is the growth rate of the Cambodian economy? What is the growth rate of the US economy?

Anyway, I think it was somewhat successful because the kids were surprised, but it didn't even scratch the surface of the strange uninformed relationship of most Cambodians to the west.

Cambodians' insistence (at least in the NGO sector) on making the westerner into God, and their seeming rejection of their own culture is supremely sad to me and it seems closely married to the rampant materialism I've seen here. Western countries have more -- more tall buildings, bigger cars, better celebrities, more TVs and cell phones and computers**** -- and this makes their ideas and values and culture somehow superior.

One good thing that comes of this: the shame in this seemingly undue adulation has pushed me to be especially critical of how we in the States do certain things (in education, in environmental sustainability, taking care of the poor in our own communities, etc.), which in turn has fostered a powerful urge to get on home right quick and help to clean up my own country's act before coming to another country to help them with theirs.

* Interestingly, I visited the embassy the other day and it's no surprise that this clean, huge, imposing, impossible to penetrate building was the face of America in foreign countries.
**Speaking to this point -- some of the students didn't believe I was American at all, given that I'm half-Asian and have black hair and all
*** Do you know?
**** I purposely omit better access to medicine, better schools, etc. because I honestly believe that it isn't these symbols of prosperity that impress -- why don't the Cambodians idolize the Scandics?

My Little Two-Burner

2008-09-18T00:48:00.000+07:00

This is my little two-burner miracle stove.

Cooking over the past 6 months has been such a stretch of the imagination and such a joy. Here are a few of the things that the stove and I have turned out:

Creamy Lentil Soup With Caramelized Onions

Thai Green Fish Curry

Mexican Tofu Stir Fry with Fresh Avocado and Spanish Rice

-- Vegetarian Coconut Curry Soup
-- Pan-fried White Fish with Tumeric
-- Spicy Beer-Soaked Meatballs with Dark Greens
-- Red Beans, Ham and Rice
-- Sweet Soya & Ginger Beef Stew
-- Shredded Mango & Peanut Salad
-- Vietnamese Fresh Mint Noodle Salad
-- Crepes with Yogurt and Caramelized Bananas
-- Scallop Noodles with Fried Egg and Chinese Broccoli
-- Deep Fried Battered Bananas
-- Sesame Rice Porridge with Fish
-- Handmade Paratha
-- Lemongrass Pork Patties
-- Spaghetti with roasted tomato & garlic sauce

And more.

Yum!

Interweb Braindump

2008-09-17T16:43:00.000+07:00

It's been 17 days since I got the internet in my apartment.

Less than 2 weeks after the new JICA volunteer Fukimi told me that she had wireless in her apartment, Voila, I'm connected once again to the world. Specifically, now I'm able to do things like video-chat with my favorite people at a mutually convenient hour -- something that was difficult to do previously since most of my friends & family are 14 hours away, and though local internet cafe advertises 7am to 9pm, the reality's a bit more limited.

I went to visit Kizuna Internet, the local Online reseller, where the sweet young guy walked me through all the details in Khmer-nglish while his mother and sister undertook a friendly interrogation about the purpose and the probable duration of my sojourn here in Kampong Cham. A week later, I was back in the office handing over a couple of crisp Jeffersons (in exchange for a receipt and a bag of those good-quality rambutans). Two days after that, Kizuna boy and his moto trailed me and my bicycle back up to the apartment where he efficiently clipped the telephone wire to attach the DSL line and configured my modem all within the lunch hour.

My Family DSL package, compliments of the Online company entitles me to unlimited hi-speed access from 7pm to 7am on weekdays and all weekend. Surprise surprise, I've noticed myself slowly start to mold my schedule around the new presence in my life. Each night around 7, I plug in my router, and first start up the iTunes downloads for the night -- an episode of Grey's Anatomy (don't judge), 3 new Ted Talks, NPR's Most Emailed Stories, and some foodie podcasts. Then it's straight to Gmail, then to Blogger, then on to the tasklist I've compiled for the evening, which looks something like this:

-- respond to all emails
-- post new blog post + pix
-- upload new fbook pix
-- get picture of urban cambodian school, CD-rom, and "rural Cambodia" (creative commons)
-- research green school architecture
-- look into Global Giving commission for KAPE
-- d/l examples of good local NGO websites for Channa
-- add new reviews to goodreads

My internet tasklist is a new invention of mine that came of having to ration my online time when hitting up the local internet shop in the old pre-DSL-at-home days. And as much as I love the new flexibility of having internet in my house, I'm happy I spent those first 5 months without because it helped me to internalize some things that I only halfway intuited before:

1) The internet's a tool -- amazing for some tasks, of negative value for others. (Think: distraction, distorted perception of the world)
2) Internet use, like a lot of things, is subject to diminishing rate of return.
3) Growing up with the internet really has changed the way I think and work, in many very good ways and in some that seem not so good.

The first two ideas are pretty straightforward and not so controversial (unless of course you find yourself in a certain cult of tech-worshippers). The last also seems obvious at face-value, but it was the most surprising for me when I actually started considering just how much information access affects the way I personally think and work. For example...

3a) Easy access to data all-the-time, any-time means that I tend to undervalue the importance of actually filing facts away in my mind. This includes both personal facts -- what day is my best friend's birthday? check Facebook! -- and general trivia. This second lacuna is constantly brought to my attention here in Cambodia; for example, when a group of high school students asked me questions like -- How deep is the Grand Canyon? What year was the Statue of Liberty built? What percentage of people in your country live in urban areas? I find my fingers itching to reach out to a keyboard and perform a simple search. And it simply baffles them when I shrug helplessly and more than a little ashamedly and admit that I just don't know.

I think this is the same condition that makes it so rare for any of us these days to memorize or recite poetry, or to remember famous quotes. Why remember when Google can remember for you? When the internet is for all intents and purposes, a repository of facts that plugs in to your brain, your brain itself can dedicate itself to being something less like an encyclopedia and more like a supremely complex computer that takes random facts and (in the best cases) fits them together into something new.

What (if anything) do we lose in this relationship, though? There seems to be something hollow about this kind of mind -- one's put in mind of these competing images: a giant pulsing cerebrum hooked up to an IV drip of information versus a glowing green brain sprouting from the ground, an organic product nurtured by sun and soil and all that other nice stuff.

3b) An obsession with what's been done means learning from what's coming before, but also possibly relying too much on past models and dampening innovation. With every new idea I have -- a business idea, an opinion of a book, a philosophy -- I find myself compelled to find out what other people have done and what other people think. This has a couple of effects. First it reduces the number of times I have to "reinvent the wheel," which seems more efficient (e.g. finding a checklist on how to perform an energy audit to "green a school" means that I don't have to make one myself). But it also happens to reduce the number of times I have to "reinvent the wheel," which often makes for a superficial understanding of the wheel in question (e.g. energy use at schools) and also might make me lazy and likely to settle for what's out there rather than innovate.

3c) Related to 3b, a depressing (and I believe, incorrect) feeling that everything worthwhile in the world has been done already and it's a lost cause trying to have a new idea AND the conflicting feeling that the world is full of so many opportunities that it is impossible to choose which one to pursue (check out Barry Schwartz's Paradox of Choice, or the recent NY Times article "The Benefits of Closing a Few Doors")

Neon Lichens and French Ghosts

2008-09-16T20:40:00.010+07:00

When we set off to Kampot last weekend to trek up Bokor Mountain, the footage in my head played back a gently sloping dirt path through luscious (but just-so neatly pruned) jungle -- the occasional whoop of a monkey, the busy chirp of cicadas, the far-off trickling of a waterfall. The word "trek," in fact, seemed to be a romanticized overstatement, for marketing purposes only. Though it wasn't the soul-scraping, test-of-will adventure of the kind I imagine you get in Nepal or those other countries where rosy-cheeked sherpas laugh behind your back at you and your shiny Patagonia gear, it required more sweat than I anticipated.

We set off from Sen Monorom guest house at 7am, bellies full of pork rice, doused in 97% DEET, hanging on for dear life as we perched on the sides in the back of the pick-up truck. The core crew consisted of

1) Lauren - lover of trees and of the French and my first friend in Cambodia;
2) Tom - Lauren's new boyfriend, a younger man, interested in knowing things about current events;
3) Chris - Lauren's easy-going ex-high school boyfriend, randomly in Cambodia;
4) Matt - a pescatarian designer who likes beer and is training for a marathon with Lauren;
5) moi

L&T were nearest the cabin and Chris and I were directly across. Matt hung precariously off the left-back corner next to Lauren.First we stopped to collect Alps Man, a solitary, broody, slightly greasy figure, who (despite our well meaning attempts at friendliness) sat down next to me, then got busy ignoring everyone and focusing his dark energies on strategies to conquer the mountain. At the next stop, a couple hopped up into the cab, an attractive Puma employee and a very German German Finance man, who I only later realized were emphatically just friends. Next, at a guesthouse called Orchid (or something similarly tropical) some familiar faces from drinks the night before -- Ricky and Mandy -- a cheery, young and thin British pair, clean and pretty like a soap ad. Last in were our Khmer guides and so we were off.

The ranger and his gun who were scheduled to accompany us up the mountain had apparently had too much to drink the night before, so after waiting 30 minutes, we decided to brave the wilderness sans automatic rifle and headed towards the trailhead.

At first the going was easy. Then, we began to hit sections where the trail wound up and up so that I often bent my smallish legs at 90-degree angles to take the next step and found myself flailing at smooth saplings to pull myself up and over the next slippery obstacle. We stopped at a waterfall and sighed at the hugeish multicolored pile of plastic & styrofoam (miraculously absent previously on the trail) and did our best to snap artsy shots of the huge and diverse lepidoptera. While some folks showered off the sweat, our camo-clad ranger and his gun snuck up on us, his posture an awkward mix of sheepish and don't-give-a-damn.

It's not clear whether everyone else was simply a powerhouse, or if they, too, were shamed by our wiry nearing-50 guide who leapt blithely up the hill; a man in comparison to whom we (graceful Mandy included) could be nothing but large clunky white folks. But despite the slight shame, I felt good. I'm sure any and all toxins that lurked in me oozed out with all that sweat; the rests were sufficient, and I had an extra bottle of water. And best of all, two hours in, we met a group coming down who exclaimed (not a little jealously) over our breakneck speed.

So we put our chins down and puffed our chests out and continued up the hill, and at the point where our jungle trail intersected dirt road, we refused the offer to wait awhile for a lift from a truck.

Eventually, we hit the summit and the King's Concubines' retreat. (In fact, it only took about 3.5 hours for the 3000ft ascent -- not bad at all). We rested and at lunch -- a sort of potato, veggie fried rice concoction with an egg a-top that made all of the boys ill later that evening. Then we started off on the last 8 or so miles of mercifully flat dirt road.

Unmercifully, the flat dirt road turned out to be nothing much more than advertised -- and flat dirt gets a bit boring after awhile, so around mile 6, I flailed my arms at a huge yellow dump truck, and to my great delight, I saw that the guide's son had beat us to it and already made arrangements and motioned for us to clamber on in.

Hair blowing in the wind, feet sinking in construction clay, we made our way over the last few miles to the ranger station where we'd spend the night.

The sky was clear around the town, despite previous reports and expectations, so after a brief sit-down on the steps of the ranger station, a few of us broke off and went to explore the concrete ruins up on the cliff's edge. We skirted the massive hole where construction of the new casino was underway. Scampering up between two buildings, past a huge concrete umbrella (or mushroom?) we headed towards the old casino. As we made our way up, the mist dropped silently in around us.

The hotel-casino was covered in moss and emergency-orange lichen, dripping and disintegrating and now shrouded in dense grey.

We explored the building basement to rooftop ceiling, thoroughly spooking ourselves considering the ghosts of the lavish parties of the haute monde that must have boogied down in the decaying ballroom.

We walked over to the edge where cloud dripped off the high plateau onto the thick forest cover below. Up beyond the construction site, the compound was completely silent, but approaching the edge of the cliff, the sounds of the jungle rushed up to envelop us in a sort of acrophobic, one-with-nature trance.

We tucked into bed by 9pm, only that late by extreme exercise of will. I got lost for an hour or two with a German, but the hike down the next morning was otherwise uneventful. By 1pm, we were in Kampot eating fried rotis and drinking piping hot masala tea.

Les Frenchies

2008-09-14T14:20:00.003+07:00

Once upon a time, there was a crew of four friends who went on a journey to far-away Kampong Cham.

Marie, Clara, Yann and Raphael (better known to some as Les Frenchies) came from the same medical school in Caen and decided one day that they'd had it with all the camembert, brioche, and apple tarts and flew away on a plane to far-off Cambodia.

Yann was older by a bit, and serious. Marie was level-headed, authentic and had a beautiful smile that surprised you when you didn't expect it. Rafael was energy and craziness -- a marvel on the dancefloor, and Clara was the sparkle, a beauty who looked right at you when you spoke, who loved acting and could tame wild horses.

When they arrived in their new home in Kampong Cham town, they had no idea that just upstairs lived a solitary, shaggy headed American girl and her Cambodian cat. And so, for a full month, the Frenchies lived and worked in the town went about their business, working at the local hospital, meeting cute children, looking out for river dolphins in Kratie; while the girl upstairs went about hers, writing reports, playing with her cat and cooking spicy curry on her two burner stove.

One day, the shaggy headed girl had a visitor, A. Her friend, like her, loved food, so they hatched a plan for an elaborate feast. Since it didn't make sense to have a feast for two, the girl decided to invite her downstairs neighbors up. At eight-o-clock sharp, they knocked politely on the door with cold Angkor beer and Pringles, and so began their friendship.

The Frenchies, the girl, and their friend A had many adventures together -- dancing until dawn on a ship moored in the river, watching a frog fisherman near the abandoned airstrip, eating beef soup and eels, presenting to a room of monks in saffron robes, playing & cooking for a weekend-straight. They got to meet each others' sweethearts and talk a little about dreams. They called the girl ma Jess because she helped them out with some little things, but in exchange she had the time of her life, and an education in key French phrases: "Truc de Oeuf!"

Sadly, Les Frenchies were not to stay forever, and eventually, one-by-one, they hugged her goodbye as they headed off on other adventures. They told ma Jess to come visit in Caen and they would feed her Boeuf Bourguignon and good red wine and teach her more cool things to say in French.

After a trip back to her own country, ma Jess moved into their old flat. Many mornings, when she heads to the kitchen to make her morning coffee, she thinks about Les Frenchies and what they're doing now.

Good Advice, Good Mentors

2008-09-14T11:59:00.004+07:00

Lisa -- educational consultant extraordinaire
Lisa and I have actually never met in person, but she's been a fantastic sounding board over the past few months as I've been adjusting, coping, learning here.

"No matter what you do, I am certain that you will be contributing, so become an advocate for yourself. If there is something else you want to do within the organization, ask them how you can make that happen. [...] Maybe it's time to be a little selfish and think about your own goals.....like I said, I am certain that when you are doing what you want to be doing, you will probably be contributing even more."

Chris -- brilliant education innovator & co-founder of the African Leadership Academy
Chris and I met in 2005 working on a project with Linda Darling-Hammond in the Stanford School of Education. A personal hero.

"If it makes you feel any better, I spent 5 years after college with basically no idea what I was going to do and chalking up random experiences – and then all of the sudden it came together and made sense and I have relied on each of those experiences in my current capacity. So. . . I think you will be fine."

Yoli -- passionate advocate of youth and overall awesome person
Yoli took me on as an assistant in 2005-06 on a project called ADAPT at McClymond's High School in West Oakland. Beautiful, authentic and passionate and completely inspiring.

Diana -- social entrepreneur in Cambodia; founder of Bloom Bags
I've never met Diana, but my half-Singaporean self feels a strange kinship :) My dream is to start a social enterprise as well, but back in the States, and I love her ideas and her passion.

first 7 tenets of her Bloom Manifesto:
"1. We believe in the right of all people to a decent life, free of poverty and with access to education
2. We believe you will be enriched helping the poor
3. We believe workers should always be paid a fair wage
4. We believe if you knew the truth, you would not be an accessory to the exploitation of workers
5. We believe exploitation is evil
6. We believe in the power of good over evil
7. We believe in the power of the individual to bring about change..."

Barbara -- Kingsolver, that is. Author of (among other things) Small Wonder
Perhaps it's just the case that my open mind's just the perfect size and shape at the moment, but her essays struck a timbre in me and shook me down in a way that will definitely shape the next few steps in my life. Oh, to write like that.

Raja Grows Up -- a Photoessay

2008-09-14T07:14:00.000+07:00

Baby Raja in the drawer at the FCC, the morning after rescue in May

Momma Mayumi feeding Raja with the syringe back in Kampong Cham

Looking less than gleeful post bath

Her baby nose is peeling

Getting her scratch on

Raja meets pappa Jaime for the first time

Still an alien cat

Playing it cool on the balcony

Getting more love from Les Frenchies

Sitting pretty on the bed spread

Chowing down

Jess as Producer

2008-08-26T19:28:00.000+07:00

Just signed a new contract this week to product three short videos for an international NGO. I put together a little movie as an experiment and it turns out that some folks in this NGO liked what I had done and decided to hire me to make more over the next month or so. I feel a bit like an impostor given that I have no previous experience with video editing, shooting... production, but I'm going to do my best and see where that takes me.

Things have been rough at the local NGO. The project I was working on was abruptly cancelled, leaving much of our staff (including myself, the expensive consultant) in limbo for the past couple of months. Without burdening this (small but elite) audience with boring details, the project's death was a basically the perfect case-study of all the things that can go wrong in development (project-based funding meaning salary insecurity for local staff; petty corruption; international NGOs making ridiculous requests and bullying local NGOs).

Thankfully, yesterday we got two pieces of really good news which have lightened up the atmosphere in the office considerably and mean that I'll probably be able to continue this video gig until I leave. Pretty spiffy.

Kitty's growing up

2008-08-26T19:24:00.001+07:00

She's looking downright purty...

Life ADD

2008-08-26T19:21:00.003+07:00

8:54 p.m. this Monday night, it's post-shower and I'm slathered with skin-so-soft, sprawled out on my bed like a beached porpoise.

Despite an unfortunate interruption of my shower -- suddenly no more water from the showerhead, or the faucet, or in the other bathroom, OR THE KITCHEN SINK -- I was finally able to rinse off some of the suds by emptying out my water filter. I guess all the effort put me in a contemplative mood.

The brief period of mourning over losing my friends is coming to an end and I'm starting to get busy again. I realize that my habit of wanting to do everything (KAPE work, BSDA, this new American club, photography, cooking experiments, parties, travel, blogs, emails, reading tons, figuring out what to do with myself post-December) often means the peanut butter gets spread too thin. I, for one, HATE my bread with too little spread. Yet (to draw out the analogy in an agonizing fashion) I not have figured out how to achieve a balance -- more peanut butter (energy! motivation! passion!) spread over a smaller slice. (I could go on to talk about cutting empty carbs, but that might be going too far).

Writing seems to be essential to keeping my sanity; emails, to keeping my connection with the outside world. KAPE work's necessary for the salary, plus the experience I'm now getting with the video stuff. Cooking/travel/hanging out/taking pictures/reading are all just fun.

But where am I supposed to fit in my "life's work", my big project that will define my life and change the world? I'm always taking on these new small projects: Learn Khmer, make a video, keep a record of the books I read... but I seem sort of short on the follow-through. My attention span wavers after about 3 mos (maybe 6 mo to a year for things that are less monotonous) and I'm on to something different. I've been searching for something to inspire me, so I can dedicate my life to its pursuit, but it seems to me that life is just so full and varied that I'll always be distracted by something new.

Not that I pretend these feelings are original, I know a few 20somethings of my generation with similar angst, but that only makes me feel marginally better.

In this respect, seems like I need to lock myself into some pattern (med school?) that forces me to stick with something for awhile. Perhaps passion at first sight of my true life's path is a bit much to ask and I need to stick things out a bit more rather than hope for an instant "click" and quick gratification.

On the other hand, what better time to explore than when you're young? I only feel like I'm losing time -- like I should have done more exploring and less "achieving" when I was still in high school and college. Alas, something to think about when I have children of my very own.'

Bye Bye July (and August)

2008-08-26T18:53:00.005+07:00

The blog suffered in the last month, but thankfully my posting frequency had a direct negative relationship with FUN over the last 5 weeks.

Jaime arrived on the 19 July and stayed for 3 weeks. No need to replicate the play-by-play from my journal, but here are some highlights:

Biking the big temple circuit, sunrise at Bayon temple & Indiana Jonesing around Beng Melea

Sunsets and a raucous all-day, all-night party weekend in Kampong Cham

Plus a 2-day dive trip in Sihanoukville -- including great coral and some awesome seafood spaghetti

And... unsticking an unstickable traffic jam and joining the road repair crew to rescue our bus.

Unfortunately, my camera suffered an injury and will be out of commission until further notice.

On 8 August, we headed out of Phnom Penh airport for Seattle. We finally made it after some $20 bowls of ramen and a 7 hour stopover in Taipei. My family met us at the airport. Jaime headed home to Bellingham and I had my first burrito in 4 months (heaven!) and fell asleep in the plush white linens of the swanky downtown "W" hotel.

Me, mum & dad, Cameron and Beck headed to Bellingham a couple days later for a rousing game of kickball and delicious brats with Jaime and crew. Then we headed out to the San Juan islands for a gorgeous week of biking, hiking and kayaking. It was the most exercise I've had in 4 months for certain, and it felt GOOD.

Needless to say, the trip left me missing the states, but I'm keeping myself busy and am settling back in nicely.

Won-weey, so won-weey

2008-08-23T18:44:00.000+07:00

It's 8:01 Saturday morning and it's been a bit over half-an-hour since my lovely friends Clara and Nico left. So far I've washed some dishes, started some packing, fed the cat, discovered a big cut on my right foot.

But now, before I commence with moving all my stuff downstairs (my landlord recently decided to let my flat to a German woman and has decided that I have to move)... I'm going to indulge myself and give in to the sadness and the slow-moving violin accompaniment in my head.

Last night the three of us had a last hurrah at Frank's bar, with cocktails, a bottle of wine, and some beouf bouignon, just like France. This morning, I sent them off with coffee, omlettes and potatoes to Siem Reap. And now I'm sitting in my half-emptied house alone, contemplating what to do with myself this weekend, this month, and in life.

Being by myself generally suits me just fine. I must have a limited store of social energy and all my solitary time lets me bottle it up in reserve for times when I need to be at my scintillating best. But having just come off of a three-week tour with Jaime, a flurry of merry-making with my new French friends, and ten exhilarating days hiking, biking, and generally living it up with my own family, this sudden isolation is startling and sad.

Sure, all good things must come to an end, but why must they all end at once and so abruptly?

(on a random note, the folks at the Expat Women Blog Directory asked me to submit my blog to their site. It's weird to consider myself an "expat" still. For some reason it conjures up images of old white men with Cambodian girlfriends. But anyway...)

Cook-off at Charthmei

2008-07-16T11:02:00.002+07:00

My first attempt at simple video production -- showing a life skills class in cooking at Charthmei Primary School:

Ay, there's the rub(ber)

2008-07-13T15:58:00.006+07:00

I want my children to know where things come from, how they're made, of what, by whom.

Revision: I myself want to know these things, and would eventually want my children to know too.

The other morning, I went on a whim with a couple of coworkers to visit a rubber plantation and factory in a district nearby. It reminded me of the (too few) times I have seen a cashew factory, a silversmith, large-scale brewery and how it felt to see how things are actually made.

A boy working on the rubber plantation.
He dropped out of school last year after 8th grade.

The rubber floats down long white tile tunnels and is
processed through this squisher thing

Then it's cut up and spit out into these rolling bins
and washed yet again.

Various treatments, and the rubber comes out in basic blocks.
This guy puts the blocks into a compressor... then they're squished and packed.

I have a simple memory of a diagram in a magazine. I think it was made for children because I imagine clear language and bright colors. The diagram showed a picture of a house cut down the middle, with its insides exposed. Each room had its typical goods -- toasters and bananas and spoons in the kitchen, table and chairs and sofas and lamps, clothes in the bedroom, cars in the garage, garden furniture on the side patio. And then the diagram linked each item with its birthplace somewhere in the world. Growing up in the United States, in Orange County (a capital of consumerism?), I knew logically that things had to come from somewhere, but I never really wasted any time considering where, how, by whom.

Now it absolutely fascinates me to see these processes at work and wonder in awe at how much we have created and then wonder in partial dismay at how much that we've created is necessary and good.

I'm certainly no ascetic and I have a hard time going for broke with "green" "sustainable" "fair trade." It's partly a suspicion of catch phrases and key words, but I also have a hard time living my life to save the planet (maybe it'll change when I have children?). It's a goal too far removed from my everyday experience to mean much to me.

However, it appeals to my sense of beauty and authenticity, and some simple human empathy to try to buy quality things made in clean and well-lit places where people are treated like humans.

Early in the morning

2008-07-11T15:56:00.000+07:00

Early in the morning, at first light, before the cans and bottles man comes rolling down the street, squeaking his dishsoap bottle horn and before the background sounds of moving and building and living commence, I like to get up and steal a few minutes from the waking day.

On my balcony, overlooking colonial rooftops and banana trees, this time of day is nothing but calm; nothing but promise and potential. The early morning breeze blows everything fresh and clear and new and magically, mercifully, my mind is quiet. My cup of tea is warm in my hand and my heart is full with contentment.

If my whole life could be mornings.

Still, it's reassuring to look on as the day is born. As people get out onto the streets to sweep and exercise; as motorcycles begin to whir by; as pots and pans and voices begin to filter in through the windows.

Exuberant, belligerent, demanding, the day begins.

Dance like no one's watching.

2008-07-10T19:03:00.002+07:00

I just had to give a shout out to my new favorite nighttime activity (and exercise regimen):

crazy dancing.

I have been known to bust-a-move out in the real world. But despite my actually-talented-dancing-since-she-was-3 sister's tendency to half laugh, half gag, I've always had a special place in my heart for wild dance parties at home with friends or... all on my own.

Becky, this is for you.

Numbers and narrative

2008-07-10T15:52:00.000+07:00

Here's a little snippet from a Cambodian newspaper about a local agricultural development project going on in my province:

"Mr. Lang Seng Houn showed figures that among 192 villages from five provinces, 14,300 families benefited from the project. the number of farmers who cooperated is 7,300, the living standard of 500 families changed greatly; 5,900 families experienced an average change, and 800 families got poorer. The number of women who have changed their attitudes and abandoned their old habits is 3,500, and the number of youth under the same category is 900. And 1,500 of the poorest families who sold their labor to have some income have changed their living standard and have become independent farmers; the livelihood of farmers in general is better. Generally, they can earn 80% more from the increase of the agricultural production and from the reduction of other expenses. They have stepped up the basis for this to retain the continuity of their production teams, and 718 teams have saved money - they have 6,000 families as members so that they are able to link their products to markets. Each family earns from Riel 1.4 million to Riel 2.6 million [approx. US$340 to US$635 per farming season] from their agricultural products; those are 427 families in Kompong Chhnang, Svay Rieng, and Kompong Cham. Their income is from paddy rice, from the breeding of chickens and pigs, and from the planting of vegetables and other crops."

I'm not against counting, measuring, or quantifying, but there's something about just numbers in the context of development (or in any social science, really) that's always made me suspicious, that inevitable makes me hunger after details, images, narrative. Two things bother me -- first, how easily numbers can be manipulated and subsequently distort the truth, and then, the way that numbers seem so inadequate to describe some experiences. I guess at its essence, translating the human experience into 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9, must reduce things at some level.

When I read this paragraph, I want to believe these families are happier, more stable and secure. An increase in family income of almost $300 seems unconditionally good. But still, it doesn't seem real unless I can also believe in the picture of fat pigs rolling around in the new pig sties; of the family of 8 who used to run out of rice by June and now has excess to sell; and the younger children who now go to school because their parents can survive without the money for their labor.

Soksabay to Ah-mah and Kong Kong

2008-07-03T18:27:00.002+07:00

Checking in

2008-06-29T17:34:00.000+07:00

It's been over two months since the last mass email -- I've been sparing everyone and keeping updates here (check it out for updates on Raja, the work situation, and more) but I had a couple of sincere-seeming requests for an email, so here are some highlights from the past 8 weeks.

Nothing like a visit to buoy the spirits and kill you with longing for home.

At the end of May, Mayumi and Judy came out to visit for a few days. We met in Phnom Penh on a Saturday morning and had a whirlwind two days in the city, hailing tuk-tuks, grocery shopping, eating crickets, getting pampered, seeing the overpriced National Museum, dancing up a storm, and rescuing an abandoned cat.

On Monday, Judy had to head back to the office (Google Singapore), so Mayumi and I headed to Kampong Cham, where I took her on the whirlwind moto-tour of the city; then the next day, we headed off to Siem Reap where we spent two-and-a-half days exploring the temples. Overall, 'twas a glorious visit, and it was hard to say goodbye to Mayumi and head back to the fortress of solitude in Kampong Cham.

Do I miss Google? Well when the Cambodian microorganisms have gotten the better of my digestive system, and I've had nothing but Maria biscuits and soda water for a day or two, my mind wanders fondly to the hot chocolate they serve in Pinxto or the Andale burrito bar. However, while I've found I can mostly do without the dry cleaning and the espresso machines and the massage chairs, what I miss terribly is all my brilliant friends.

Living for the action in the field.

Work can be tedious and not always what I expected, but going out to visit schools and communities is inspiring, depressing, entertaining, and always educational.

Out in the field, I get to watch the tiny first-graders lugging their own plastic chairs to-and-from school; I get to visit classrooms with students, but no teaches; I get to see the village chief assemble families for a workshops on gender and education. Once, I met a group of girls who started a small tailor business with training and a microloan. I laughed along at a Girls' Club's ruefully funny skit about a drunk father who won't let his children go to school. I rode through cassava fields on the school director's moto to visit a family of 12 with two scholarship students and two HIV-positive parents.

Out in the field, I can feel nothing but humbled by the work my colleagues are doing. It almost makes me feel like I could continue as the organizations flack jacket without complaint...

The alphabet, new exercise regimes, and the noodle tour.

As for daily life, my Khmer is improving rapidly, so I'm able to have pretty decent conversations as long as people speak "muoy-muoy" or "one-by-one." I decided to start up with reading and writing, and so far, I've managed the 33 consonants: Gaw Khaw Ghuh Khuh Nguh. Jaw Chaw Juh Chugh Nyuh. Daw Taw Duh Tuh Naw. Thaw Taw Thuh Tuh Nuh. Baw Paw Buh Puh Muh. Yuh Ruh Luh Vuh. Saw Haw Law Aw. Radical.

Since I decided running (or even walking) was out of the question, I've taken to switching between my moto and a bicycle around town, and have instituted an evening regimen of crazy solo dancing to loud music. Next time I go to Phnom Penh, I'm buying a $1 pilates DVD. Elongated musculature here I come!

As if to counteract the good intentions of my new exercise regimen, Rumdourl has decided that my knowledge of Cambodian cuisine is too limited, so she's decided to take me on a "noodle tour" -- one new shop in Kampong Cham every week. I consider this supplementary to my Khmer cooking education -- I've been learning 2-3 new dishes per month, courtesy of friends and their mothers. Next up: Fish Amok.

Flak Jacket

2008-06-22T12:19:00.001+07:00

I haven't written very much about work stuff, perhaps because I've still been trying to process everything myself and get a handle on the best way to describe it all, but I guess here's as good a time as any to make a go of it.

So here I am, working with a local education NGO here in Kampong Cham. The organization's origins go back to April 1996, when USAID decided to halt funding for their Cambodia Assistance to Primary Education Project because of the political climate in Cambodia. A group of local staff from Kampong Cham province decided that it was unacceptable to suddenly drop aid and technical assistance to schools, and continued their efforts with their own personal resources. Eventually, with support from the local and national partners, the project was reborn into the organization it is today.

As I've described before, we're your typical alphabet soup of projects funded by a myriad of donors from all over the place. We try to organize ourselves into sections and consolidate projects into longer term programs as much as possible. I work in the Girls' Education Initiative (gei) section which currently includes two main programs: our Girls Secondary School Scholarship Program which includes a bunch of different activities including vocational training and "life skills" classes like computers, cooking, and hair-cutting, and the REACH project.

I was mostly hired to advise the REACH team, specifically to help them with research design and analysis, designing the new activities based on our research, and writing reports and proposals. I also act as advisor to the gei section in general, which currently means I'm sorting out a projected budget for the next 3 years, writing proposals to try to secure the money, and writing reports to current donors.

Unfortunately, day-to-day I feel like I'm buried in a mountain of bureaucracy. I thought I would be able to help this local NGO and learn a lot about development and I think I was right, but not in the way that I expected. Honestly, I'm most useful as a flak jacket to protect my team from the demands of donors so they can go ahead and get the actual work done. I guess someone needs to do it, but it's not especially fulfilling. I'm trying as much as possible not to just do the work, but instead help the team learn skills themselves so that they can function more independently of an advisor in the future, but it's tough to find the time and the patience. It's a constant battle between just doing things myself because it's faster and simpler, and trying to cajole the team into doing it themselves. So far, I'm teaching a weekly advanced English writing class (sparsely attended) and mentoring our team leader Rumdourl and temporary Program Manager, Rith, but it's slow going.

I guess I live for trips out to the field which remind me of the children and communities that all this paperwork is meant to help. This past week, I went out to visit three groups of girls who received a small loan from our NGO to start a business after completed our vocational training programs in sewing / beautician skills. It was super to see what they had achieved in only a little over 2 months. One group of 5 girls was making over $150/week sewing clothes for people in their village, at least twice as much as they could make individually in the rice fields.

To mark the difference the loan actually made, we also visited some individual students who hadn't received any credit assistance after finishing their training; 3 of 4 were out in the fields working, their sewing machines covered and unattended. Unfortunately, it seems unlikely that we can make the program much bigger ourselves since our main focus is education and we don't have the expertise nor the manpower nor the donor connections... so I'm going to try to look for a local microfinance partner who we can pass the groups off to instead.

I'm starting to see how education development can be a difficult field, given that the results are so vague... We assume that students who have more education are better off, but it's not always the immediate reality. In the long term, there's no doubt that a better educated populace is good for political stability and necessary for economic development, and it's certainly worthy to give children at least the option of a quality education if they want it, but like the example of the vocational training/microfinance link, it seems like education may be necessary to a point, but is woefully insufficient without other programs.

Anyway, enough for now. Missing home lots, but still doing well.

Pix

2008-06-13T12:52:00.000+07:00

Here are some more pictures from Mayumi and Judy's visit.

Cooling off

2008-06-13T12:46:00.001+07:00

Today, the weather seems to be finally changing and there's a gorgeous breeze blowing through the office, cooling sweaty brows and tempers alike. After a number of heated moments in the past few days, it seems like things are finally calming down. If I will learn anything from my time here, I hope it will be patience and grace despite frustration because without these qualities, I won't survive another month.

This past week has been my most difficult by far in terms of my work here in Cambodia. Some of my worst nightmares of the donor community have come alive in ugly detail this week, and the sudden flare of my own displeasure with our partner, added to the unrelated issues brewing on our project team seems to resulted in the proverbial pot boiling over. Take a fundamentally flawed system, add miscommunication and language barriers, egos and reputation, throw in a little bit of incompetence and my own impatience, and you've got the recipe for a serious headache.

To be crystal clear, though there has been a small issue on the project team I'm advising, the major issues I'm taking about have to do with the folks who are funding my main project. Anyway, I don't have much time to write right now, but my seething sense of righteousness seriously needed a vent. I will describe the meeting and its aftermath in excruciating detail soon.

The cat's meow

2008-06-12T17:18:00.001+07:00

Raja and I have worked out a deal. She gets the guest room and I get to sleep in past 5:30 on the weekends. My new tiny feline house companion is very dependent so contrary to the advice of some kitty experts, I decided she needs to spend a little more time away from "mommy" so she doesn't develop any complexes. I moved her from my bedroom into the guest bedroom and so far, it seems to be working. Play with her when I'm home, feed her on a regular schedule and she's a little bit less of a mewling mess than usual. The only issue is the litterbox. She appears to hate the way the little pebbles stick between her toes; unfortunately, the selection here in Kampong Cham is nil, so for now, the whole situation requires a lot of patience, tissue paper, and some clenching of teeth when the going gets especially tough. See, isn't she cute?

Raja owes her new posh life to her aunty Judy and aunty Mayumi -- my two first visitors and Raja's rescuers. The three of us were staying in some nice digs at the Foreign Correspondents Club in Phnom Penh and were more than a little curious about incessant chirping coming from the wall in one of the bedrooms. One morning, stepping down the stairs onto the riverside, we discovered the source of the mystery sound -- a tiny disheveled kitten, splayed haphazardly on the stoop. The shopowners on both sides could hear this little cat screaming, so determined was it to find its momma, but it was clear that no one was going to do anything other than maybe throw it into the river, so Judy took pity and ordered some milk at the coffee shop on the corner, and so began our relationship with Raja.

I still wasn't convinced about the sanity of trying to "rescue" such a tiny (irritating?) creature, but I was overruled by my more soft-hearted friends. That night when we came back after a long night (and still meowing her heart out), we gathered her up, gave her a good scrub down in the sink, fed her some more milk, and put her to bed in a drawer with towels for warmth and a hotel menu as pee-protection. Eventually it was agreed that she would have to go back to Kampong Cham and live with me for at least a few months to have any real chance at life, so back she came in a dirty old Angkor beer box lined with the ripped up remains of a box of Gushers and some tissue paper.

Now she's in the guestroom, sleeping soundly, her round little belly taut with tuna, her head snuggled under the 25 cent stuffed keychain I bought to keep her company.

That's all for now folks!
Jess

New pix from the field

2008-05-22T18:02:00.001+07:00

Things have been hectic at the office lately trying to get our research wrapped up and our pilot off the ground before the school year comes to a close.

Thankfully, I was able to escape report-monotony twice in the past couple of weeks to observe some of our programs in action.

Some pix here.

More soon on the English class I'm teaching, my new responsibilities at the Buddhism and Society Development Association (BSDA), my trip over the bamboo bridge, various existential crises and more.

Muah,
Jess

Vignettes in celebration of friends and fun

2008-05-10T11:25:00.000+07:00

A couple more pix here.

It's a beautiful Saturday morning, there's a breeze on my balcony, I just had a bowl of oatmeal with mangoes and a cup of coffee from my Vietnamese drip, and I'm quite content.

Don't really feel like writing about work at the moment as I've been in it up to my ears. So instead, I'll talk about the varied, random, adhoc social scene I've been part of over the past month and a half. This has been a month of parties and fun and so far, it's been a kaleidoscope of ages, nationalities, cultures, and personalities. Because there are so few people very much like me, I've found myself hanging out with groups that you might not see together in any other context.

I must say that I'm very glad that I don't live in Phnom Penh -- having been there one weekend, I can say it's absolutely lovely to visit, but it seems too close to the same kind of thing I'm used to. The "NGO scene" and the travelers that pass through are certainly colorful and more international that I might get on a Saturday night in San Francisco, but at the same time, they all seem to be the same young 20-something idealistic young professional types that I'm accustomed to seeing and socializing with (no offense to any of you, my dear, dear friends ;)

So, in celebration of all my new friends, here's a short summary of a couple of my recent social engagements:

An intro to the office -- Khmer noodles and cards
My very first Friday in Kampong Cham, Brigitte, the Dutch volunteer who's since left, invited me over for Noam Ban Chop (Khmer noodles) and a card game. This was my first introduction to many of the staff working in my section and we all had a fun "getting-to-know-you" afternoon, pounding up soup ingredients, slurping down food, playing a hilarious card game called "Take 6" and eating apple beignets.

The crowd here consisted of the two volunteers, Brigitte (in her 30s) and Sally (in her 60s), 5 women Cambodian staff, and one husband.

A soaking at the airstrip
The same weekend, Brigitte & Sally organized a trip out to the old American airstrip just out of town. The three of us were joined by Elaine (the volunteer who's working with me now that Brigitte and Sally have both gone), Elisa a Dutch volunteer in her early 30s who lives on a boat back in Holland and will be stationed in the horrible border town of Poi Pet, and Esther, a British fisheries volunteer in her late 20s who'll be stationed in Battambong.

We enjoyed wine, pringles, and some Cadbury easter eggs I had stashed away, but unfortunately instead of a sunset, we were visited by the first torrential downpour of the season. By the time our tuk-tuks finally arrived to rescue us, we were already soaked "down to the knickers" as the Brits would say. Wet & still hungry, we headed over to Joe's Bar near the river for nourishment and a dance party.

Awkward moments with my landlord
It's tradition for Khmer New Year to spend time with the family, so when the time rolled around, our already bustling household filled to the brim with daughters, son-in-laws, grandchildren, and nephews. On the first evening of the new year, on my way out to the internet cafe, my landlord and a group of other menfolk insisted that I stick around, share a beer, and toast to the new year.

I happily sat down, ready to take part in the new year jollity and meet the family. The group was already well into their 4th or 5th can of Angkor (none of them particularly large guys) which made for a particularly boisterous crowd. Around the table, we had my landlord, two dentists, a military general (apparently a very important man), and a businessman.

The businessman, Mr. Sam was my landlord's nephew. He was the most eager to speak English, so he drove the conversation, asking about where I was from, what I did and why I wanted to come to Cambodia. Every couple of minutes, we raised our glasses and toasted "to health!" Soon, my very happy landlord started to join in, proudly telling me about Mr. Sam's millions. When I expressed my admiration, he went on to reiterate that Mr. Sam was a in the garment industry, and added that he was still single. Eventually it came out that Mr. Sam had travelled extensively in Singapore and in the US and was now in search of a foreign wife. We laughed and my landlord taught me how to say "just joking" in Khmer, but the conversation eventually went on long enough to become slightly uncomfortable even for Mr. Sam, so I excused myself and promised to come back after my dinner for one more drink.

I didn't make it back in time for the promised drink, but the next morning, my landlord was quite abashed, and there's been no mention of Mr. Sam since then.

Volunteers make kebabs
VSO (Voluntary Service Overseas) is an organization that brings professionals from around the world over to developing nations to help build capacity in local NGOs -- it's the group that brought Sally, Brigitte, and Elaine to Cambodia. The first 6-8 weeks of a VSO volunteer's life is taken up by training (language, culture, development), and lucky for me, part of this training took place in Kampong Cham which meant a jolly crew to bump around with for a few weeks.

The VSOs-in-training all lived together in a big house in town. The group had a rowdy element -- some heavy drinkers and frequenters of karaoke bars, so I was ready for an exciting night when they invited me over for a BBQ one Sunday in honor of Elaine's birthday and the New Year.

The group was diverse -- 5 young women from Australia, Holland, and Britain ranging from mid-20s to early 30s (including Elisa and Esther), a married couple from Britain, a recent graduate from Canada, four Filipinos, two Ugandans, two middle-aged British men, and two older British ladies (including Elaine). We started off the evening talking Jesus and the phenomenon of "born again Christians" with one of the girls (a staunch Christian herself), ate some delicious kebabs, sang happy birthday to Elaine, then danced the rest of the night away to a joint-playlist made up with 5 "favorites" from each VSO. I was disappointed that no one recognized my songs, but alas, I guess my American taste for the classics (e.g. Paul Simon, Tom Petty, Journey) was lost on the crowd.

Making "Escape Beef"
Rumdourl, Mary and I decided we should have (yet another) small party in honor of Khmer New Year, so we requisitioned Sally's house and began debating the menu. In the end, we didn't decide until the trip to the market that morning -- I made basil tofu and paratha and Rum, Mary, Tiwon and another friend got stuff for "escape beef" and Cambodian omlettes. We prepped everything on the floor in my kitchen and then went over to Sally's to cook.

Escape beef is almost like a Khmer fondue, cooked in a hot pot in the center of the table. The pot is filled with oil, butter, and some prepared sauce of seasoned tofu blended with sugar, salt, and I'm not sure what else. You throw in raw beef with Khmer potatoes, cabbage, carrots, and oyster mushrooms and pull things out as they get done.

We ate once until we were too stuffed to talk, then sat down to a few rounds of the infamous "Take 6" then back to the table for another round of eating.

Three Nepali speakers at one table sets a new record in Kampong Cham
Before she left, Brigitte gave me the card for a Peace Corps volunteer in town. I gave John a ring out of the blue to see if he wanted to meet up for a drink, and he rang me the next week to invite me to dinner with a whole crew. Our dinner at the usual Joe's Bar was highly unusual in that we ended up with three Nepali speakers (and no fluent Khmer speakers!) at the same table. Kurt, my next-door neighbor, now works for the World Food Program, but had originally been a Peace Corps volunteer in Nepal. There, he met his now-wife, Hira, who just came to live with him in Cambodia. The two of them were joined by the ex-English teacher of a friend of Kurt -- a 20-something girl who happened to be visiting from Phnom Penh and brought this teacher along. He, in fact, had been a Peace Corps volunteer in Nepal some 30 years back, and was eager to shake the rust off his skills and practice with Kurt and Hira.

Besides the six of us: John, Kurt, Hira, 20-something, ex-teacher, and me, there was also a Maryknoll catechist (priest-in-training) from Chicago who was stationed in Kampong Cham

At dinner, I sat between John (who told me about losing 40lbs since coming to Cambodia), and Kurt (who shared the story of how he and Hira met... very romantic).

Dance-a-thon in a bar on a boat in Phnom Penh
The last weekend of April, I headed out to Phnom Penh to check out the city, stock up on groceries, and meet some friends-of-friends who were living and working there. The first night, I met up for happy hour with Lauren who I had met by email through a friend of a friend in San Francisco. I brought along Elaine and Sally and Lauren brought Rachel (her roommate), Andrew (a recent grad from NY teaching English at the Royal University), and Joe (a Brit who had spent the previous year or so leading adventure trips in the jungles of Malaysia and South America).

After the first successful night, we decided to meet up again the next night to go and hear a friend of Joe's DJ at a local bar. After being completely soaked in another downpour (early rainy season!) we took a few drinks along the river, then headed to the bar, Pontoon, which was on a boat out in the river. The club was full of hippie travelers and young-ish NGO types, and we enjoyed each other's company and danced like crazy until 2am. Achaya, the DJ, invited us back to an afterparty at his house (next door to the guesthouse where I was staying) so we headed off to wind down the night to good music and good company.

Samat throws me an eel soup welcome party
Samat is the person in the office who is always well-dressed, always madeup, and who is (according to my sources) an avid dancer and karaoke-star. Last Friday morning, Samat invited me to join her for dinner after work as a "welcome to Cambodia" get-together. I happily agreed, and after work, we headed off together on our motos to the Eel Soup restaurant. Needless to say, this outdoor restaurant has one specialty.

The 6-or-so of us from the office sat in a small hut, and the server came over with a wooden bucket of burning charcoal. on top, they placed a ceramic pot, into which they poured a delicious-looking brew of soup, eel, and other unknown goodies. As the pot boiled over, we threw in a plates of veggies and waited a few minutes before ladling it all out over our small bowls of noodles. Chnganh nah!

Paratha and Curry at Sally's goodbye party
Sally left just yesterday and there have been a flurry of going away events in her honor over the past week. The official party at her house consisted of the usual crowd from the office, plus her landlord and her 5 boys. Yet another eating extravaganza followed by cards.

Village mass and dinner with Rodrigo and the Bishop of Kampong Cham
After meeting us all at Joe's bar that night, Rodrigo decided to invite us all over to take a tour of the Catholic compound and have dinner with the priests. He also invited us all to check out a mass in a nearby village -- I was the only one that decided to go, so I left a little early from work to meet him at the compound and drive out to the village. The mass was held at this small retreat center in a village nearby to Kampong Cham. The building itself was a raised house with the typical peaked roof and shutters on the sides. Just as we arrived, the thunder began, the breezes started to blow and the sky went dark, so we quickly scurried inside. Seated at the front of the church was a statue in the style of the seated Buddha, but representing Jesus. Behind the statue were intricately carved shutters, which let in the last light of day. Since there was only one battery powered light-bulb inside, the rest of the congregants read their hymnal by light of small candles. I couldn't follow most of the content of the mass in Khmer, but I knew the general order of events and could share "peace be with yous" at the appropriate moment.

After mass, we headed back to town in the pouring rain. The Bishop of Kampong Cham, a friendly older Indian man, drove the truck. One fellow's moto got a flat, so Rodrigo helped lift it into the back of our truck and he rode huddle back there back to town. We dropped everyone off, then headed back to a delicious dinner at the church compound. When we arrived, Kurt, Hira, and John were already there. We sat down to eat -- the Bishop, Rodrigo, Kurt, Hira, John, a Korean priest-in-training, and a Korean Maryknoll volunteer. The bishop told us the amazing story of the "first Catholic" of Kampong Cham, and we discussed cooperation between the many Christian sects here in town.

The Office

2008-05-08T11:03:00.001+07:00

Got into work about three-till eight today, parked my moto, exchanged hellos with my buddy Sopheoun and the administrative assistant and got down to work. Folks trickled in until about 8:10, about half the staff's around at any one time, with the rest out in the field of at some meeting-or-other. It's customary to kick our shoes off just inside the front door, next to the mail cubbies and the water dispenser and go around barefoot in the office. There's no air-conditioning, but the standing fans work just fine and help keep the flies away, except for the few hours per week when we lose power.

The office is located on the grounds of the Provincial Teacher Training College (PTTC), across from the Regional Teacher Training College (RTTC) where they train upper secondary school teachers (grades 9-12). Also on the same grounds are a primary school and a special institute for deaf and blind children.

We've got a good-old squat toilet over-around the side, which we keep padlocked presumably so the teachers-in-training can't make a mess of it. They have another public toilet right beside, but the school-children, alas, aren't so lucky and either have to hold it, or find a suitable tree.

The campus is a mix of extreme fastidiousness and disorder. The other day, we were instructed to park our motos facing away from the building because it looked "untidy" the other way. On the other hand, the path leading down the grounds from the main road is completely demolished (think asphalt someone decided to jackhammer and then just leave there). Roundabout noon, little boys and girls collect wood fallen from the trees in the compound to bring home to cook the lunch time meal. Later in the day, a few cows and the occasional goat keep me company just outside my window.

The office consists of four main sections, the Girls Education Initiative (GEI), where I am, Child Friendly Schools (CFS), the School Breakfast Program (SBP), and Educational Support for Children in Underserved Populations (ESCUP). GEI and CFS each have about 10 folks who sit together in two workrooms on one side of the office. Our room has windows with wooden shutters that lock on the top and bottom, so you get to clamber up on the desks each time you want to open or shut them properly. On the corner, next to GEI, you have management/administrative. Opposite all that, are two small cubicle rooms for finance and data-entry and the SBP office sandwiched in between. ESCUP has a separate office just around the corner.

There's a large digital clock mounted in the center of the office between the two sides which marks the time and lets us all know when it's noon and time for our lunch break. Every day, religiously at 12pm, the whole office shuffles out and the doors are locked. Folks ride home for food, a shower, and a nap, and then come back at 2 to finish out the day. The long break makes the day seem like two days since you've always got those two chunks. But every day, at 5 'o clock on the dot, we're out the door again. If there's a such thing as a rushed deadline (haven't seen it yet), I guess it's dealt with at home, because if your computer's not off and your shoes nearly on at 5:10, you're liable to be carried out rather unceremoniously.

A group of three monks and three Buddhist priests came and blessed the office at Khmer New Year; they chanted and prayed for an hour and a half to improve our chances at receiving donor support in the next year. We cleared an entire room, set up a special altar with incense, mini-pagodas and small offerings of food, and nearly the whole staff came. At the end, the monks threw candy and longans and flowers at us all. It was a beautiful ceremony but unfortunately for me, the main bit took place in the CFS section, and not my own, which means we only got the whatever luck was leftover near the end when the head monk went from room to room.

More to come on what I actually do at work, other than watch cows and pray.

Win the lotto, become a US citizen (!?)

2008-04-22T18:18:00.001+07:00

Wow.

Word in the office is that our vice-director (at left) just won a lottery which qualifies him to move him and his entire family to the United States, where he'll be provided a job and a home and be able to become "American."

If you're looking a bit incredulous, that was my reaction too. I'm doing some recon to learn more, but the entire Cambodian staff ensures me that this is the real deal, and in fact, someone they all seem to know from the Provincial Department of Education won the same lottery recently. This POE man apparently migrated just last year and has spent at least one happy Christmas in the US celebrating in the home of new-found American friends.

Given how difficult it is to get a visa these days, and given the fact that our vice-director has very limited spoken English skills, I'm not exactly sure how all this works. I was just mentioning to some of the staff how a Canadian friend of mine at Google was turned away at the US border upon returning from a trip to visit friends and family because the occupation on her Google-issued work vis, "Computer Programmer" didn't match the occupation on her university degree, "Computer Science" (yes indeed, what is our country coming to?).

It's just another example of some of the hare-brained (and sometimes expensive or dangerous) schemes folks here seem to have to get out of the country to better things.

___________________________

Update as of 4/24

Sean kindly explained the deal to me:

Apparently, there is a lottery under the Diversity Visa program, which as far as i understand, is meant to ensure randomness in the visa selection process: http://travel.state.gov/visa/immigrants/types/types_1318.html

Fascinating.

Thankful for choices

2008-04-19T18:14:00.000+07:00

WARNING: Reading any further may expose you to cliche & Jess-style angst. Watch out.

So I suppose it would be strange if it were otherwise, but in the past few weeks I've really noticed how being here makes me thankful 100x over each day for things I used to take for granted: to have an amazing education, to travel, to have brilliant friends who do amazing things, to be financially independent, to feel like I have the same opportunities as a woman as I would as a man, and to live somewhere where it's considered culturally acceptable (in our circles at least) to live with a significant other before marriage.

Recently, I've felt embarrassed about all the choices that I have available to me. More specifically it's difficult to explain to people here that I had the security and financial means that allowed me to choose to give up a comfortable (relatively well-paying) job and life to travel and do something simply because it moved me... because I was interested in learning about something and somewhere new... because I wanted to be challenged... because I thought I might be useful here... because I had an itch to travel.

This isn't something that people here totally get. Though people at the office are a bit more accustomed to foreigners coming to work (mostly volunteers), more often than not other folks want to know right off the bat: "why are you here?" To many, my title, "Technical Advisor," means "high-paid" and "important," and so many assume that I'm here for the money and it's commonplace for someone to ask how much I make. Foreign advisors make magnitudes more than their local counterparts, so relatively speaking, this job makes me a rich woman. From my perspective, of course, this job makes me no such thing. I haven't quite settled on an explanation that can satisfy.

Anyway, I have more thoughts but I'll spare you all for now.

Piiiic-tures

2008-04-14T16:21:00.001+07:00

Some finally: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2119484&l=1f299&id=201113

Here's a preview for the curious:

Our staff retreat

2008-04-14T15:48:00.003+07:00

Last week, I headed off with our office staff to a 3 day retreat to Steung Treng, a city at the very Northern tip of Cambodia at the border of Laos.

The trip was a mix of work and play: a day and a half of presentations and then a full day boat trip to a large waterfall.

We left at 7am on Sunday -- piled into the minivans. The five-hour trip got off to a bumpy start -- right off, we had to make a couple of bathroom breaks, pick up some Department of Education folks who had come in from Ratanakiri, and rebalance ourselves amongst the vehicles after the drivers complained that we were so heavy that the insurance wouldn't cover us in the event of a crash.

Our organization is like a big family. Already, Cambodians call each other "bong" (sister) "om" (aunt) "boo" (uncle) and a plethora of other familial names regardless of blood-relation; then, on top of that, everyone is friendly with everyone else despite the fact that many of them work in difference offices, and this friendliness extends to new employees and the spouses and children who came along. It makes me so happy to see the seemingly complete lack of social awkwardness -- people seem to understand inherently how they fit in to the group which makes for everything quite harmonious.

We arrived in Steung Treng around noon in time for a big lunch at the hotel's restaurant, and then had time for a short rest before a half-day of meetings. Everything was conducted in Khmer, so I had to sit close-by one of the English speakers and nudge them every so often for a summary.

According to Kurt, this was the first staff retreat planned and run entirely by the staff. The first retreat 4 or 5 years back was run entirely by advisors, which demonstrates how far the staff has come. All in all, it was definitely an interesting introduction to the way meetings happen here. All forty folks were in a room around some tables, including the drivers and cleaners. The content progressed in three ways: either someone presented (think powerpoint slides filled with Khmer text), or there was opportunity for feedback (people passing around the microphone to give their opinion), or there was groupwork (folks writing down ideas on big sheets and presenting them back to the group).

One thing really surprised me. In the US, you hear that people rate fear of public-speaking above fear of death, so when you see every staff member happily standing up in front of their peers to talk (often at length) about what they think, it's a all a bit shocking.

On the second night, there was a big going away party for Brigitte with food and toasts and dancing! That night we were instructed to wait until everyone had arrived before starting to eat -- on other nights, everyone tucked in to the food so quickly that if you came 15 minutes into it, you'd see half the tables already starting to be cleared. We danced some traditional Khmer dances -- the Rovull and the Madison -- as well as some more Western numbers: the Macarena, and some knock-off Cambodian rap.

The next day was the boat trip, so we got up early to eat breakfast and headed out in our vans at 7am. We crossed the Mekong on a ferry and drove for about an hour to a small village on the bank of the Sekong. There, we piled into a bunch of powered-canoes, 3-4 per boat, depending on your weight, piloted by a crew of boys and men from the village who ran the service as a small village enterprise. We spent about 2 hours heading up the river, stopping a couple of times to clamber and sweat through the brush on the bank where the river got a bit dicey, and eventually arrived at a rocky bank where we got out and started the climb up to the waterfall. Preparation being as it is, some folks had on sandals, some of us were luckier in flip flops and a select few had on good shoes. We hiked over spiky rocks and through bushes until we finally arrived at a multi-part waterfall. I found a spot, plopped in my feet and scarfed down the lunch we had packed along, then took off to explore.

The more intrepid braved sharp slippery rocks and swift currents and went up to the "big fall," the ones with younger children just lay in the shallows in all their clothes. As it got hotter and hotter, with some encouragement from my boatmen, I decided to embrace life Cambodian-style and went for a swim in one of the bigger pools, longsleeve shirt, pants, and all.

On the way back in the boat, we stopped at a mini-island (about 100 ft sq), took snacks and watched a pod of Irawaddy dophins play in the river.

The next day, burnt, tired and happy, we headed back to Kampong Cham.

Saturday 3 in Cambodia

2008-04-12T17:57:00.000+07:00

This morning, I woke up around 5:30 washed my face, brushed my teeth, arranged my mosquito net, and trotted over to my kitchen to put on a huge kettle to boil. While that started, I tidied up my living room table and picked up my flashcards (now growing to an appreciable stack) to take a quick look before my teacher arrived. Tiwon came over around 6:10 by which time I had already made us two cups of tea and memorized a couple of words from the previous lesson.

Around 8, we finished up and Tiwon took me to see her house and then to a tiny market (called "Market behind the pagoda") for breakfast -- again those delicious noodley things, this time also served with Chinese fried cakes which were made with green veg and some kind of flour. We each drank a glass of iced sugar cane juice and then headed off to meet our friend & my coworker Mary (pronounced Maa -- ree) who needed to buy some new cloth to make an outfit for some upcoming weddings. This is the wedding season, so weekends are rife with blaring traditional music, and garishly decorated awnings where well-coiffed guests eat and celebrate.

Mary lives with her father, and mother (both Cham muslims), her older brother, 3 nieces and baby nephew. Her older sister (mum to the kiddos) lives and works in Thailand with her husband. It seems pretty common that older folks take care of their grandchildren while their own children go work elsewhere (that's also the case with my landlord). Mary speaks the best English of pretty much any Cambodian person I know here (my Khmer teacher is comparable), she's independent and super-friendly and though she doesn't work in the same section as me, we've hit it off in the few times we've hung out together.

Mary, her oldest niece, Tiwon and I set off on two motos, deftly navigated the packed byways of the Big Market to a guarded parking area and headed inside. The trip was a success. Though they were disappointed that I didn't buy anything (too small!), Mary got her material plus accessories, Tiwon got a new t-shirt and Mary's niece got a brand-spanking-new outfit from the clothes-stall run by none other than her primary-school teacher (which she was asked to hide from her sisters for at least a little while). One of my favorite near-purchases was a pair of panties meant to flatter the wearer by way of some extra padding "help" in the behind.

The whole market experience was much more fun with the girls especially because they knew so many of the folks in the market. Though Kampong Cham has a decent sized population, I definitely get the feeling that everyone knows their neighbors and, consistent with what I've seen of the rest of Cambodian culture, people are super-friendly and helpful.

After the market, I headed to Caltex where I picked up some peanut butter and juice, then headed home with only a few false turns. At home, there were a few new faces, most likely relatives coming to stay for the New Year. The jackfruit and mango trees had been ransacked for the guests, and something delicious was bubbling over the charcoal fires on the back patio.

Back home, I puttered around for a bit, swept the floor clean from the flies I had Raid-ed the night before, then decided to cut my hair. Once I decided that I'd regret any additional scissor snips, I sat down to do some studying and write for a little while. And here I am now!

Pretty sweet life, huh?

Knyom roo nugh Kampong Cham.

2008-04-12T17:56:00.000+07:00

Before I left for Cambodia, I asked a friend of a friend for some advice. When I told her where I was living she immediately suggested I consider commuting to Phnom Penh at least on the weekends -- "Kampong Cham? That's in the middle of nowhere!" In fact, some of my coworkers do live in Phnom Penh and do commute on the weekends, but I suspect it's more a question of the availability of employment for other family members than a desire to be entertained.

I guess compared to Phnom Penh, Kampong Cham could be considered a small-ish "nowhere" but in fact it is a provincial capital complete with three markets, three gas stations with air-conditioned minimarts, a governor's mansion, a bridge over the Mekong, an abandoned American airstrip, a couple of temples, a beautiful promenade along the riverbank, and two western-style bar-restaurants that serve fish and chips and spaghetti for $2.50 (expensive by most standards). To top it all off, we recently got two 24-hour ATMs, from which you can withdraw USD for a small finance charge. Apparently, there are also a few Karaoke joints in town, which I (unfortunately) have yet to explore.

The city was built way-back-when by the French and there are some lingering signs of the colonial architecture -- in particular, the main road in town is a broad boulevard with a wide paved center divider with lamps, punctuated by open spaces where the neatly arranged streets of the town run across (read: moto death trap). The area along the river also has a European flair with a broad paved sidewalk, lit by tall streetlamps, overlooking the steep bank down to the water and with a view of the bridge, built more recently by the Japanese.

In the "downtown" economic center of Kampong Cham, the roads are paved. We also have the recently built Highway 7 which goes direct all the way to Phnom Penh, but my street and many of the residential streets are uneven dirt. In general, people keep their own houses and yards very clean, but public spaces are a different story. I still haven't gotten used the habit of nonchalantly tossing an empty can, water bottle, or other random piece of garbage on the side of the road, or in a ditch, or under a tree, but I guess I can't expect all the cultural things to come to me quickly. With the litter and seemingly constant (mostly private) construction, Kampong Cham has the feel of a living, expanding town, changing to accommodate economic development in the province and in the country.

In general, the town wakes up around 5:30 and goes home a little after sundown. In the mornings, the markets are bustling with people and motos, but by noon, the shoppers, deterred by the heat and the flies, all retreat to someplace cooler. My first trip to the market was to the Bangkot Market with Brigitte to buy random house supplies & instant noodles. My second trip alone, I braved the fruit, veggie, and meat sections of the Big Market and left triumphantly with a huge bottle of fish sauce, some random veggies, a huge pomelo, some mangoes, duck eggs, a loaf of french bread, a half kilo of rice, and a whole chicken. The market is awesome -- just-picked produce and newly butchered meat in every direction -- all under a high metal roof. Stall vendors perch in the middle of large platforms with their wares neatly arranged all around. Depending on the set-up, you can often pick the best fruits and veggies from a couple of sections, pay just one person, and they split it accordingly. Everything is organized logically -- fish together, pork together, chicken together, eggs nearby, then all the veggies, and the fruit near the periphery. If you come early enough, you can watch as they expertly turn a whole pig into chops and loin and ribs.

The only place I've seen to buy refrigerated goods are the two minimarts attached to two of the three legitimate gas stations in town. Caltex (StarMart) and FreshShop have yogurt, milk, ice cream, and your occasional cheese, as well as some western snacks like Pringles and peanut butter.

All around town are small semi-outdoor eating establishments with tables and plastic stools arranged around a main cooking area where you can watch your food being prepared fresh right in front of you. My coworkers have already kindly pointed me to some of the best in town where you can wait up to 5 minutes (imagine!) to get the best sauce in town.

Some shops are easy to pick out -- for example, all mobile phone shops seem to have the same orange sign with white lettering but a different name -- but some places are not so obvious: houses often double as laundry services or keep small snack shops in the living room downstairs.

Last Saturday, Brigitte took me for a bicycle ride around town and we took some pictures of the fantastic signs advertising various services: wedding costume tailoring, bakery, moto repair, electronics, veterinarian. Each one with its own pictogram to cater to the illiterate (folks like us!) who can't make heads or tails of the Khmer script. We then rode down a few kilometers outside of town along the river to a more rural area. We saw some of the floating settlements along the river and returned many shouted "he-ll-os!" from the children of local farmers. Then we turned around in the other direction, back up past the post-office, "cinema," and governor's mansion to Highway 7, and rode in the blazing sun up to Wat Nokor, a pre-Angkorian temple which also houses a working Buddhist community. After paying an inflated fee to the police "guarding" the site, we wandered around with an unsolicited and unwanted guide who could only speak enough words of English to ask us "why didn't we love him." In one of the working temples, we tried to decipher the gorgeous colorful mural depicting Buddha's life, and in another temple with a reclining Buddha, we watched a fortune-teller deliver what must have been bad news to a teary girl and her supportive friend.

I'd like to start a little project to draw out a better map of the town to remember where everything is (e.g. the cheap bread shop, the best veggies, the place to buy my brand of mosquito repellent), but it's difficult because during the day I only want to go about on moto because of the heat (and the scary traffic trying to run you over) which isn't so conducive to taking notes.

That's all for now, folks. Miss you all and love you lots,

Jess

One-week anniversary!

2008-04-05T16:15:00.001+07:00

It's my week-plus-one-day anniversary of living here in Kampong Cham, and it's high time for an update...

So far, I've been settling in nicely. My first two nights, I stayed with Kurt, who I find is actually a volunteer and ex-advisor at my NGO, and not the director as I somehow got into my mind. He has a beautiful big house a little ways outside the main town on the new national route 7 (or big road to Phnom Penh).

Now, I've taken care of most of the basic necessities: shelter, water, food and even have a few other goodies like transportation, a mosquito net and a toilet brush!

I'm living on the top story of a 3-floor house "behind the old prison" (basically a small ruin of a wall) on an unpaved, unmarked road which also serves as home to a few other foreigners (mostly NGO workers, a few hospital volunteers, and a couple of Bible-thumpers across the way). Brigitte, the Dutch woman whose role I'll be taking over, currently lives next door, and the new volunteer Elaine will be taking over her place. My landlord is awesome -- he's a nice grandpa with 4 daughters and 5 grandchildren and he speaks some English. The house is a ruckus, with "servants" and family coming and going all the time. I also just found out there's a Korean girl (a nurse) who lives in a small room downstairs.

The apartment is 3x bigger than my place in San Francisco and quite nice. Outside, there's a big iron gate, standard for most houses, that gets locked at night. The front driveway is tiled with lots of potted plants. To get in, I walk back to their patio (where they're often cooking in big pots outside) and enter through their house to the staircase and then up the two flights to my pad. My kitchen has a refrigerator and running water and an ancient rice cooker that may work. Brigitte's been donating some house supplies to my cause, so I have some basic utensils and plates, and I picked up a couple of knives and other sundries at the market. I also had a water filter brought from Phnom Penh which makes my water taste like rocks, but hopefully does away with the girardia, etc. Obviously, the kitchen's most important, but as for the rest of my house: I have two bedrooms (so please, don't hesitate to visit!), two bathrooms, a living room, and an awesome balcony with a porch swing and a view of the small lake. I do have the option of air-conditioning, but so far, I've made-do with the ceiling fans and frequent showers as I hear a night with the AC can run $8.

Across the street from my house is a food stall with delicious breakfast -- these small noodley things and vegetables with an egg on top -- a Khmer specialty, or so I'm told. I've eaten there a couple of times, and sometimes make do with a cup of tea and some Hob Nobs. The food here has been awesome so far. My first meal in the country on the way from Phnom Penh to Kampong Cham was tiny whole deep-fried eels with picked veg and rice, and a spicy pineapple & fish soup. I've also had the famous Khmer noodles twice: my third night, my coworkers got together at Brigitte's house and taught us how to prepare the dish which consists of a stock with ground fish, tumeric, lemongrass, salt, garlic, shallots, basil and much more, on top of noodles, on top of banana flower and tow gay. You top the whole shebang off with some lime (kroich ch'ma) basil and other fresh green stuff. Yummy!

My office was lovely enough to lend me a moto, and I bought a sassy helmet made in Taiwan. It's certainly a treat to ride around with the wind in your face, especially in the humidity and heat. The moto's an automatic, so I guess I can't qualify as "hard-core" just yet, but I think it's certainly a good way to get around and part of the Khmer cultural experience. Before I got the moto, I was bumming rides from office-mates on the backs of their motos, or paying $0.25 for a ride around town. Since very very few folks speak any English, my geographically challenged self had to quickly learn a few Khmer words, (Knyom roogh nugh kang krawee gook -- "I live behind the prison") and my way around town.

We had one day of relief from the heat when a big storm rolled in earlier this week. It was crazy to see the entire sky go dark, and then the deluge begin. There was lightening and thunder and everything cooled off for a brief while, then back to the sweat.

There are lots of things that are different, but on the whole, I've been pleasantly surprised with how easily I've been able to meet people, get what I need, and get used to squat toilets, roadside stands with sun-dried clams, and skin-and-bones cows wandering the road.

Tune in for more about the office, Khmer lessons, new friends, my first trip to the market (including my experience with Cambodian chickens), and KHMER NEW YEAR.

Here we go!

2008-03-28T16:11:00.000+07:00

March 29, 2008

So this is it, here we go.

I'm sitting on the plane on my way from Taipei to Phnom Penh. There's about an hour to go until landing, and I'm feeling pretty well-rested, thanks to my trusty sleeping skills. I sometimes worry that my ability to sleep most anywhere, anytime verges on narcolepsy, but I can't complain when the same ability allows me to sleep through a 14 hour flight.

I'm looking out the left side window near the front of the plane and can see a coastline, and the outlet of a river -- perhaps the Mekong? We're getting closer to landing and I'm getting a little more nervous -- I still know so little about what to expect when I land; it's scary, but also exhilarating to live so much in the moment, taking things one thing at a time.

Mum and dad dropped me off almost 20 hours ago at LAX. I have many friends and family to thank for their love and support in the past few weeks, but especially mum & dad for helping me get ready for this trip and being excited and proud for me to go off and try something a little off the wall.

After I woke up from my first mini-nap on the flight from LAX to Taipei, I started to panic a little:

"Wait, what?" I thought. "Where am I going? And why? I had a beautiful apartment in a city I love. I'm going away from a loving boyfriend, friends, family, and a well-paying job for what again? Am I running from something? Am I chasing a romantic notion, am I trying to prove something, and if so, what?"

I guess I've gotten a lot of questions lately about what I'm going to be doing, why I'm going away at all, and why to Cambodia in particular. I've thought a lot about it, and written about it a little, and I guess if this is going to be the start to a log of my adventures over the next few months, it makes sense to talk a little bit about the impetus for the whole crazy thing.

Here's a little snippet from my original Fulbright application:

My whole life, I’ve excelled at things that were relatively familiar and comfortable. Google opened my eyes to what’s possible when you push the envelope and translate big ideas to action. Psychologists have shown that people can become addicted to success, and risk less because they are afraid of failure. I don’t want that to be me. Just applying for this grant has already pushed me in ways I’m not accustomed to - reaching out to strangers, independent study outside of a formal academic setting - and it’s not difficult to imagine how much more I would grow in 10 months.

As most of you know, I didn't convince the Fulbright folks, but even so, I think this was the most sincere part of my application and the fundamental reason why I'm on this plane.

I could go on and on about my particular selfish reasons, but staying true to my nature, I'll just write a couple down in a little list

-- Want to do something I care about (e.g. education)
-- General travelust -- particularly, liking the feeling of being a foreigner in a place and the exhilaration (and exhaustedness) of learning everything over
-- Want to test my boundaries; can I do this on my own?
-- Find out what's really important to me -- what do I need to live? In the end, not much I think
-- Like the idea of being somewhere where my skills and experience and time are relatively much more valuable
-- Want to get a little closer to understanding what life can be like in a "so-called" developing country and try to understand more about this morass that is development
-- Want time to think and not just be busy busy busy, without a real goal in mind
-- Though it can be lonely, I like "starting over" in a place with no expectations of what kind of person I am, what I should do, who I should be