It's a zoo over here.....

I am coming to understand that normal rules don’t really apply in this country. Monday, we took a trip to the zoo (we got the day off work in honor of the venerable Visak Bochea—I have no idea who that is, and ironically none of the local Buddhists do either). It fell a bit short of the paved walkways and very large fences that are so ubiquitous in the zoo’s American cousins. Also absent were the balloons, goldfish pond, and cotton candy that complete every five-year olds idyllic dream. This experience was actually more closely related to a petting zoo—replace the goats with the ‘common Asian dear’ and the bunnies with pelicans and storks, and you’re in business. Behind a short chain-link fence, we found the crocodiles. I could easily have stuck my hand through the mesh to touch the thing, it was so close, but that didn’t seem advisable. However, for a small fee, you can buy a live chicken to throw into the pen. In the section with monkeys, there were more monkeys out of the cages than in them. This one just wants to hold hands. The Asian black bears will whine until you throw a coconut their way, but the otters squeal (they sound like they are in pain nigh unto death) until you feed them fresh coconut slivers piece by piece through the fence. They stick their paws out and grab the food right out of your hands. The elephants would dance, take money from your hand, and play soccer. The wire fences containing the panthers, lions, and tigers looked woefully inadequate, given that the thin wire chain link fence, the kind your dog always bent and dug under to escape the yard, is the only thing standing between you and this beast that looked so much more friendly in the Disney movies.

The middle of this walking tour featured food stalls, with four options: on the left, we have fried frog, on the right, charred fish, bottom left is boiled freshwater crab, and not pictured bags of chips that contain more air than substance. We passed on the food stalls and waited until we got back into town.

Friday was another national holiday (this time, I believe we were given the day off in honor of the Royal plowing festival—the fifth national holiday in the last 3 weeks. There isn’t another until September, folks.) and so we took off for the beach. Four hours and five dollars later, the bus dropped us off in Sihanoukville, Champong Sam Province on Cambodia’s south coast. Since a picture is worth 1000 words, I’ll just leave a few of those, with the small addition (probably unnecessary) that it was a glorious weekend.

Work is coming along splendidly—despite the plentiful Holidays, I do actually have something useful to be doing. Next week sometime, after I finish with preliminary research and design my survey, I take off for the provinces to collect data. The nerd in me recognizes this set up as the living manifestation of the empirical researcher’s wildest fantasies. The rest of me is just thrilled to be here, experiencing something so entirely new.

Against the best wishes of anyone who ever loved me...... (sorry mom)

I’m sporting a new hair do these days—the promised restyling has been successfully achieved, probably to the surprise of most everyone. I don’t think people believed that I would actually do it. But, emboldened by my new surroundings and far away from my mother, who would probably have corrected my adventurous new look with a pair of scissors in the dead of night, I actually did the deed. And it doesn’t look half bad.

Life has settled into something that resembles normality. The sun rises around five fifteen and we get up with the rest of the family—thanks to traits inherited from my father, I actually enjoy being up in the morning because the day always seems so much more productive. Plus, you can see the sunrise, gold framed by palm trees and dark rooftops.

The roof is my favorite part of the house—I could sit there for hours just watching. The sea of rooftops is punctuated by little green tufts, the upper edges of palm fronds, evidence of life below. The part of that life that I can see in the ally below is endlessly amusing—four boys can be seen there at any hour of the day playing soccer and forcing the motos to swerve around their game, people move in and out carrying produce in baskets balanced on their heads, and children run around barefoot and smiling.

Nobody seems to notice that the soccer ball is hand woven from plastic strips, that the barefoot children are running through piles of trash and rancid water, or that the people emerge from houses made of cracking wood and corrugated tin, with barred windows and barbed wire fences. Maybe they notice, but no one complains.

The road to my house is small, not even on the map. The house itself is fairly average—long and narrow, like most houses here, with all tile floors and a rooftop balcony. It is small but clean and well kept, though we do share our bathroom with a family of ants who seem reluctant to leave their current residence. Ashley and I inhabit the only room in the house with an air conditioner, which makes sleeping much more comfortable, though I hate the idea of inconveniencing the room’s previous occupant, probably our host mom.

(toilet paper in the bathroom.....those are ants. there are more crawling around the bottom and inbetween the sheets, but they appear to be camera shy)

At night, I stay up talking with my new family—brother speaks English quite well, but mama and sister don’t, so communicating involves a lot of sign language and even more un-knowing smiles, the tacit sign that we had better give up while we are ahead. I am trying to learn Kmer quickly, but this is one instance where time is required more than anything else, and it seems that there is little I can do to change that.

I start work on wednesday--we had a meeting today and it looks like the perfect place for me. A combination of plenty of hands on field work and a great opportunity for research. I think I've found a topic for my honors thesis! I remain fully convinced that this is going to be an amazing summer. keep me updated on your lives though--I'd rather not fall off the edge of the earth, even if I am on the other side of it!

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!