Bienvenue au Cambodge.......

Translation: Welcome to Cambodia. I'd write something more interesting in Kmer, but as I have recently been reminded, I don't speak it, so French will have to do.

The first thing that hits you getting off of the airplane is the heat--the air is thick and humid, and stiflingly hot. The second thing that hits you is the smell, pungent and earthy, with a floral sort of edge, but punctuated by the tangy smell of fruit gone sour. From the air, it is a patchwork of rice patties villages clustered around stream beds, running fuller now because it is monsoon season. The rooftops in Phnom Penh are either a dignified red tile or a dull and rusted tin. Even from the sky, you can see the contradictions in this city--Much of the population is poor, barely getting by, but there is another part, living right beside them, whose beautiful terraced homes, complete with guards and high garden walls, are evidence of their relative wealth. The juxtaposition of luxury and squalor is really striking.

I get around the city on a refurbished bronze beach cruiser, complete with a hand bell, basket, and pedal-powered headlight. Phnom Penh is quite bike friendly, in that it is not any less friendly to bicycles than it is to anybody else. People here drive like we wish we could drive in the US, were it not for the constraints imposed by law. In fact, US drivers who aspire to drive in true cambodian form are generally slapped with huge fines, suspended from all future operation of a motor vehicle, and/or imprisoned. Cars, when people can afford them, are ostentatious and large---like the shiny black hummers and land cruisers with the words "land cruiser" stamped on the doors in huge print. They honk profusely and generally exploit the fact that they are much bigger and stronger than anything else on the road. Most people get around on motos, up to 5 people on one. They zoom all around the city, three or four to a lane, swerving in an out of traffic and honking to alert you of their presence. Only the intersections of large boulevards have any sort of traffic signal whatsoever. Crossing smaller streets is terrifying. They are unmarked, but there is a constant flow of traffic in both directions. Keys to escaping the eminent jaws of death include keeping a steady pace when crossing the street, so cross traffic can swerve around you, and riding next to a car, since others will generally stop and allow the car through.

The morning rush starts early, to avoid the heat, presumably, but it doesn't really let up until the rain comes. There is nothing like this rain. It is like the almighty creator wanted to empty out his swimming pool, and decided to pour the contents here. Clouds gather spontaneously--your five minute warning--and then comes the deluge. Huge, warm drops falling fast and furious. Within fifteen minutes, the smaller streets are flooded with three inches of water, and if you are new to all this, your bike, with a flat front tire, is sloshing through the street, its sodden driver wondering A)where everyone disappeared to, and B) where one can purchase the plastic ponchos that have materialized to cover the few natives who remain on the roads. Kids run outside in their underwear to play in the water, adults start sweeping the refuse from their porches (it is like a free daily pressure washer), and I am wet, laughing, and wondering how long this can possibly last. My camera, however, didn't have such a joyful experience. Pictures are coming either when I can coerce it to turn on again, or when I find a place to buy another. I've seen cell phone stores, but no where that is likely to sell a camera, digital or otherwise. I'll ask people at church later, someone ought to know.

As alluded to before, I don't speak the language at all. Most of my communication has consisted of strange hand motions and sorry attempts to use the few phrases I do know. Ordering food is nearly impossible, but after learning yesterday that we need to figure out how to pay for things, Ashley and I have memorized how to count and make change--four thousand riel to a dollar, and you can pay with either. (dinner last night for both of us was 10,000 riel--or 2.50 for two huge plates of fried rice. we didn't mean to order fried rice but liked it anyways. And we can do all this in Kmer. Sort of.) People hear me try to talk and pretend to understand. I was trying to talk to an old man, his grand-daughter took a more logical approach and just laughed. People often stare at me and laugh at the crazy things I do. Never with malice, mind you. I am just a tall, blonde oddity clearly out of my element, and that is alright.

I did manage one coherent conversation today with someone besides Ashley. Sorry to you detractors who told me French is a useless language, and I had better learn Spanish--A very kindly French lady found me today. I was looking ill at the grocery store and she offered to help. I was just a bit dizzy due to heat, so I was fine to bike home after a short rest, but she was so nice. We talked for 20 minutes about the city, her family, her two years here, and general safety tips (don't take asprin, it makes you more vulnerable to denge fever, and "etre prudent...garde ton sac, parce que quelqu'on vont essayer de le voler." ie, careful, you stick out so people will try to steal your stuff)

I've found, however, that people are friendly and try to help when approached. I'll be safe because I am careful. Just keep my in your prayers.

I love it here and can't wait for the adventure to continue!