Reflections: Neither in nor out

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!"

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

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

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.

10 days till takeoff: The goodbye bash

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.

Fat today

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.

Biking Vienna to Kampong Cham

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.

Discos down south

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.

Neon Lichens and French Ghosts

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

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

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

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

Bye Bye July (and August)

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

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...)

Checking in

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.

Vignettes in celebration of friends and fun

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.

Piiiic-tures

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

Here's a preview for the curious:

Saturday 3 in Cambodia

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?