9.22.2008

Some photos...Scavenger Hunt, Toul Sleng
















Phnom Penh Scavenger Hunt: Deidre and I from the top of the Sorya Mall, Tony kissing a 50 some pound salmon in a little market, the boys outside the "Playaz Club", and the KFC in Phnom Penh.




























Toul Sleng Prison: The courtyard outside, the rooms that were turned into cells, and the barbed wire covered hallway near the group cell wing.













Yesterday's sunset...

9.19.2008

Busy Life






9-17-08
Phnom Penh is an interesting city, full of busy people, obnoxious tuk-tuk and moto drivers, and lots of euro-americana. (Note…as I write this, I am safe in my compound watching two dogs stare each other down from either side of an old bicycle). Battambang, a city between my provincial town and Phnom Penh, is close to the size and interest of Phnom Penh, though, and is much closer and much calmer. We visited the night before our travels to Phnom Penh because it is easier to get from there to PP then from our own town. Busses run “every half hour” from each place (and I put that in quotes because our 7:30 bus left Battambang at about 8:15). However, Battambang has lovely American food, including ice cream sundaes, and life is good there.

It is a long trip. From my site to Sisophon, 1 ½ to 2 hours, to Battambang, 1 hour, from Battambang to Phnom Penh…5 or 6 hours. I don’t think that I will be going to Phnom Penh very often. For this time, it was worth it. We went to the American ambassador’s “big, gorgeous house” (because that’s how Peace Corps phrased it) and had some delicious hamburgers and spring rolls with sweet chili sauce. And then…swimming. A week prior to this visit, we received a mass text that said that we would be swimming and I was so thrilled that I jumped up and down and scared my family half to death. I was extremely excited, though, and swam away the warm Cambodian evening with th other volunteers.

The following day was full of entertainment as well. We went on a Phnom Penh scavenger hunt and, as a province, took pictures that continue to make me smile. We were challenged to put a huge salmon down our pants, take a picture with the KFC colonel, meet the local elephant, and return with a sampling spoon from a local ice cream parlor. We did all of these things, and more, including posing outside the local “Playaz club,” getting an autograph from a pharmacist who speaks very limited English, and making it back before 4:00 (which reminded a few of us of ANTM go-sees). We also discovered one of the country’s stop signs…where no one stops. It may or may not be effective.

Let me take a quick break from this part of the story and shout out a huge thank you to everyone who sends the amazingly expensive packages to their sons and daughters in Cambodia. I say this because I have had the privilege of sharing some lovely sweets from Matt’s mom, Dan’s parents, and Will’s mom, as well as some books from Katie’s folks and a soccer ball from the other Katie’s folks. In the event that any of you read these few words…I want you to know…that we love you all and it is so exciting to receive something in the mail after the Peace Corps land rover rolls up to house.

But something a little less happy…Me, along with a few people from the new Banteay Meanchay and Siem Reap provinces went to visit Toul Sleng, the genocide museum at the former Khmer Rouge prison. It was beyond words. Most of the time that I was there, I was thinking about what it was like when there were people there. Before it was a prison, it was a primary school…children roamed the halls and played in the huge courtyard. But then it was turned into this horrific place, where rape and torture and pain and suffering were the kindest words that could be used to describe the place. Right now there are houses on every side of the high fence tangled with barbed wire – were they there then? Did people try to nap as they listened to the sounds of a whip across the flesh of their teacher, their doctor, their friend, their neighbor? There are gorgeous flowers in the courtyard…did the prisoners see them as they were led to be murdered for nothing?

It is so painful to think about what happened in this country to allow this. It was more powerful to look at the pictures displayed so carefully within the walls of the prison: pictures of torture and despair, pictures of every single prisoner who was killed, pictures of their lives cut so short. One of the last things that we saw before we left the museum was a map of the country showing all of the killing fields and the mass graves that have been found. Every town that I know has one – each training village, every site in my new province, and basically every place that I have seen in the country. It’s inescapablely infused into the world that I now live in. And I am beginning to see the results…just before I left Phnom Penh I saw a foreigner with a young Khmer girl and had no doubt what the relationship was. More people beg me for money than I can possibly accommodate…and my white skin automatically creates assumptions that I have more than I make. I see bribing as a part of daily life. Ignorance here is bliss, though…excessively unrealistic.

But life here is nice. When I got back to my training village, I took a cold bucket shower, ate my favorite meal of fried potatoes and onions, took off the top sheet from my obviously-a-mouse-has-been-here bed, removed the moldy pillowcase, and closed my window because the wasps from the nest 3 feet from my window were too curious to leave me be, and slept better than I had all week. There is something about home, even if it isn’t quite the same.

9.10.2008

9.11

We are remembering here in Svay...and we are waving imaginary American flags.

A funny!


So…a three legged bear walks into a bar, goes up to the bartender and says…(imagine the western accent)… I’m lookin’ for the man who shot my paw.

PS - That's my brother on the left, and my cousin (?) on the right. They bring me fruit from the tree next door and try their best to get me coconut milk even though neither of them is strong enough to wield the butcher knife that you use to do so. It is adorable, though...

Rainy Day of Banteay Meanchay

Note the rain, the mud, the awesome altar, and enjoy my new house!

9.10.08 - Rainy Days and Provincial Towns on Tuesdays


9.10.2008
It rains more here. I say this because it has rained at least 5 times in 3 days, and every time it rains, the roads get more muddy than I ever would have thought possible. And the behavior is a bit different than in my training village…In the other district they batten down the hatches and hide inside until the rain stops. They take down the hammock, feed the ducks, close every window, and refuse to exit the house. Here, however, my brother lost his shirt and pants and showered in the downpour from the roof, closely followed by the young boy from next door (who I love because he picked me a ton of this strange looking orange fruit from my house) who also lost his clothes. George (not his real name, only the closest American name to it), the same guy who serenades the family, began hauling water in the downpour to fill some of the basins near the house. They washed out the bathroom, washed the bike, and took rain showers as they giggled and slid around in the multicolored mud around the house.

Rain also makes the roads entertaining. This morning I took a taxi to go the 50-60 kilometers to the provincial town, Sisophon, and, since it rained the night before, the roads were awful. We sank into mud puddles, stopped for a caravan of important people in a 15 vehicle Land Rover caravan, and fishtailed more than if we were on a snowy road in the middle of an Iowa winter. It was like ice that captured everyone, no matter their vehicle. But, my giggling seemed to make everyone in the car happier and the driver was a nice guy. Oh yeah, and we made it safely.

In the provincial town we have discovered the following things: wooden furniture, school supplies, cakes and party hats, large markets, and delicious American style food, including onion rings with sweet chili sauce, and streets that flood in the rain. We scampered from the scary police-like man who was guarding what we thought was the tourism office and walked more than a few miles for some pricey Khmer food that we ate near an empty stage a few guys who were begging for English lessons. We met an Australian volunteer who works for a food NGO and seemed to think it was strange that we lived in rural Cambodia (because he spends all of his time in Siem Riep, his own local Vegas, and in Phnom Penh…we wonder about his Khmer after the long 2 years he has been here). And generally, wonderfully, liked this city.

9.8.08 - Site Visit!


9.8.2008
I am so lucky. The more I spoke with my counterpart, the more I got a little frustrated by the miscommunication caused by my unfamiliar accent and a little more excited at the prospect of being in my site. It was a bit of a trip – from Kampong Chhnang to Battambong, a 3 and a half hour bus ride, then another hour and change to Sisophon, and another hour and a half to my village by car taxi on the bumpiest road I have ever been on. This is not an exaggeration. The rain destroys the rods here and the cars that ride on them only perpetuate the problem. There were some promising places along the way though, that I am considering a long bike ride to, but generally I will need a taxi to get anywhere near the provincial town, at least until I can ride 50 K without much trouble (especially considering the size of the potholes on this road…if Bussey’s potholes are a pond, these are Lake Superior).

But now for the fun part. I must admit that I was a bit worried once we began dropping off my friends…first the tall guy that plays cribbage with me and who we poke fun of because it is above the age of 27…then the guy that hails from Chitown and wears big shades that make him look like he is a movie star (that can’t grow facial hair) and then finally I split with my friend who is the only other semi-rural lady in the province, the gal that laughs with me about just about anything. It was a little more worrisome when my teacher and I (alone, mind you, at the outskirts of the town) stopped to eat some lunch at a spot that I would never go into by myself – a place filled to the brim with semi-scruffy men of all ages watching kickboxing to strange testosterone music. But, no problem, a coke and some noodles and we were out by the road waiting for the driver to come back; and we had the always fun, “ask about the white girl” game, which I always enjoy interrupting with sentences in Khmer that make the men who were intently staring at me smile so broad. For this game, it was a compliment on one of the men’s straw hat, because I have the same hat in another color.

Throughout the anxious and yet massively entertaining (there was a child in the backseat that I played with for a good solid half hour) taxi ride to my town, I listened to my counterpart talk about the town and how close things are, how happy he hopes I will be, and so on, and then we finally arrived. We drove straight through to the market, because it is both the home of the taxi driver and the home of Mr. Sothy, so he lugged my things through a muddy alley, stepping on the far sides and some strategically placed planks to get to a little house with a young boy and some older girls, a classroom across the way and a nice hammock right on the porch. I sat (because if you are a guest…) and talked and looked at the baby in the awkward silence that has come to define a majority of my Khmer conversations.

It was a long walk to my own house, and it felt more like forever because of the heat, the awkward silence, the heat, and the sheer anticipation of my new home. But alas, we made it, and I was greeted by my new family. Let me preface this next statement with a bit of a misnomer: If a Khmer person says that their friend, son, daughter, uncle, cousin, or aunt speaks English, chances are their perception is relative and probably incorrect. Even if they do speak English, it is a very little amount, a word here or there, maybe a sentence, but understanding me as a native speaker is difficult and translation is weak at best. So, I had heard from my co-teacher that my new father spoke the language and I was a little bit skeptical. But then, what a surprise! He is more than fluent and translates for a Human Rights agency in the country. He speaks like a native and shows only a hint of the accent that colors most of the English that I hear. My oldest sister also speaks a considerable amount, though I do need to speak much slower and clearer. I am ecstatic! And so surprised! My 2 sisters are gorgeous, and my brother too is so adorable. My mother seems a little shy, but makes the pretty wedding outfits that I was shown in earlier, and also seems to enjoy my meager attempts at her language. And, grandma is super cool as well, a typical grandma that smiles at me and chews leaves filled with some red stuff that she spits wherever is her whim.

The house is a nice size, my bedroom the front room right next to a fair sized veranda with a wooden recliner and room for a hammock. There is a big room with a TV from which the other rooms stem from, and a comfortable set of stairs below. The shady area underneath has a big wooden table and a kitchen twice the size of mine in the training village. Plus…and this made me so excited…a sit down toilet and running water!!!! Not a necessity, but (as a certain PC manual says…) an advantage. Indeed. I have coconut trees, pomegranates, chickens, a cat, and a black bird that speaks Khmer!

It gets better. Not only does the director of the school live right next door, but I am also related to him – some sister of my mom is his wife. He came over and spoke with me, told me that I would be protected from the gangsters and wholly welcomed into the school, and life is good. I sat and had some delicious rice with a carrot/onion/garlic fry and strung up my pink and flowered mosquito net above my king size and equally flowery bedspread as I glanced at the pictures of roses on the wall. They knew I would be a girl. (A word about this picture...they put empty duck eggs on the plant for decoration...)

Something entertaining happened that first night, though. Since I know my name is tough for Khmer speakers, I asked them if they wanted a nickname for me because it would be easier. They thought for a few minutes and came up with the word, bo paa, flower (or rose), and I sat back in amazement. It turns out, that in all the words in the Khmer language, they picked the exact same one that my family back in my training village uses as well. I figure if that isn’t a sign that the name fits…

My town.
In the middle of the night, it rained, and the sound resonated through the tin roof and into my consciousness in some strange and uniquely Cambodian way. When I woke up, stretched and turned about on my silky sheets, I glanced out the window and saw that I shouldn’t like the rain as much. The road is basically un-travelable post-downpour. My sister skipped school and went out with me on an expedition that lasted only as long as it took us to get across the street to the breakfast shop for some truly addicting iced coffee and noodles with bean spouts and lime, a typical Khmer breakfast. We went back home hoping that the sun would dry out the road later.

It did, and after lunch, I was out with the school director’s 20 year son and friend as well as my own brother and similarly aged cousin. The son reminds me of my cousin Drew…he has the same chilled personality and they walk with the swagger that I rarely see – they even may be the same age because of the Khmer tradition of a newborn being 1 year old in April no matter what month they were born in. We walked to the local pagoda, and I saw other influences in the beautifully decorated elephant statue and in the series of men lined up at the gate of the wat. We walked over to the school, dodging water buffalos along the way, and I saw the buildings (3) still under construction, and the majority of the rest needing some construction. The buildings are old and wooden and still feature chalk boards instead of the marker boards that grace the majority of the schools now. However, the set-up is nice and the b-ball court and football field are both in fine shape. It will be a good environment, especially when students are around to liven things up.

Upon return home, my nephew’s (?) friend got me two coconuts by sliding up a palm tree like a monkey (after taking off his pants, of course) and continued acting like the high-on-life teen that he is. I biked Khmer style over to Mr. Sothy’s house and met up with the English for children class before riding around the market with my sister and being the object of all attention. And then, after dinner, I danced…life is good.

Of course, dancing is an interesting prospect. My cousin/aunt (?) comes over, usually with a few bananas, and we all file up to the living room and my younger brother puts on some Video Karaoke CDs, and we sit, and watch. Then, they tell me the name of the dance and my cousin (?), a 24 year old guy who works for some finance thing, sings and serenades in his lovely perfect pitch voice, (as he did the night before as he laid in his hammock, completely a capella, while I danced with my sister) and he gets up and shows me the dance. My favorite dance is one that I dance with him…you walk up and back, three steps, three steps, and at the stop you kick out one leg (as your partner does the same) and yours hands wave at your waist and then cross as your leg kicks. There is also the Khmer square dance, complete with a hop, and the numerous dances around a pole, a chair, or some other stationary object. I have found, though, that no matter how much I practice, I can never have the poise of a Khmer woman, the ease of beauty of their hands and how they move with such grace…

Sites!


9.5.2008
Day 1: Site Announcement
The past two days have been intense! After the increasingly less interesting trip to the hub site yesterday morning, we sat through a long few sessions in anticipation of the site announcements. We waited through the morning, through lunch, and through a forever discussion of something that I can’t even remember because I was so anxious to find out about my site.

But then…the wonderful announcement. For weeks we were wondering how they would do it. Would they call our names like the Price is Right and say, “come on down!” to…(insert province here)? Would they give us some secret envelope that we would have to hold in our damp, shaking hands until they gave us the go ahead and we could tear into them as eager as kids before dawn on Christmas morning? Or, would they make it as low-key as they can and just read the names off a sheet with a monotone and brisk inflection?

It was better than all of those. They pulled out a large map of Cambodia with all of the current K1 photos in their locations and all of our photos posted around the board. The staff member who was in charge of our locations stood up and began the announcements. “In Phnom Penh…” he said in his teacher-like, lightly accented voice. Since we all know that no one is in Phnom Penh (for many obvious safety, security, and cost issues) he had a little laugh and pointed out some of the staff members who reside in our capital city. But then for the real story, he began in next province on the Tonle Sap and announced the names of all of the volunteers who would be there as they walked up to the front and moved their photos from the grey areas in Thailand, in Laos, in Vietnam, into our own country and their own province. We all clapped and cheered, and the atmosphere was jovial.

And then they called another province, to the north…Banteay Meanchay. And I heard my name with the names of 2 other volunteers from my training village and another with whom I play sports whenever the occasion arises. It is a new province to Peace Corps, so there are no K1 Volunteers there, though there are some in the nearby Battambang and Siem Riep Provinces. My actual site is north of the provincial capital of Sisophon, which makes me (by far) the northernmost Volunteer in Cambodia. I am no more than 50 K from the Thai border and close to the semi-famous temple of Bantey Chmar.

With our announcements came a small report of our village, though, for which I am grateful. And…it came with good news! There are several NGOs (Non-Government Organizations) in the area, including a mine removal center, a center that helps women and child to supplement their income, a human rights organization (that my host dad works for), and several VSOs that work in the local hospital. Including…a Kenyan (yes! Kenyan!) VSO that works with health in the area!!!! Perhaps my Africa Dreams aren’t that far away after all!

Plus, the map that I have shows my town on the cusp of a protected landscape, which I hope means that the nature will be beautiful and I will be able to find many places to bike and walk and explore throughout my service. The report notes as well that I will have some limited electricity (enough to charge my computer, my only desire), that Thai Baht is the currency of choice (though the dollar and riel are both perfectly acceptable), that my family will consist of mom, dad, sisters (18 and 15), brother (12), and grandmother, and that the town is probably about the size of my current training village. The black and white photocopy photos that I have look promising…and I’m hoping that the language that I’ve been learning from the south has some resemblance to the dialect of the far, far, far north.

Important afterthought: the K1 Volunteers gave us PB & J sandwiches with chips, salsa, Ritz, Oreos, cookies, and Apple Jacks with real milk and we were basically in heaven for the 10 minutes that it took to devour it all.

Day 2: Meeting my counterpart
With shaky butterflies in my tummy as I walked across to the venue, I wondered what he or she would be like, because throughout training, we have heard both horror and wonder stories of counterparts and co-teachers. One of the Volunteers told me that my guy was here and that I should go find him in the heavily male group of sharply dressed teachers from across the country. Fortunately, he found me before I had to look very hard, having seen my picture on the previously mentioned map. He is 39, married, three kids, and a great, enthusiastic personality. He works for the hospital in the summer, translating for the VSOs there, and his English is more than okay. I look forward to spending more time with him, especially because in his main concerns about my service, my health and my reaction to Khmer food are at the top of the list. However, I do wish that he paid little bit more attention to the important points of the sessions instead of my ability to live in Khmer culture as I have been for somewhere between 5 and 7 weeks.

9.04.2008

Important Updates


8.31.2008
Important Updates:

The little girl at my house is beginning to walk and I have seen her take at least 5 steps on her own without falling hard on her bum, and she smiles at me all the time, a fact for which I am eternally grateful.

Our family is now the proud owner of 4 puppies, and I sort of watched them be born, which is slightly strange for a non-country girl such as myself.

My brother’s wife is pregnant and will be having a baby sometime in January.

I have officially lost 12 pounds so far - says 2 different scales!

I find out on Wednesday where I will be placed for the upcoming 2 years and I am so nervous and excited, and yet horribly sad to be leaving my family, who have called me adopted, and which I found out through an awesome use of Khmer.
My bathroom has two very large, vrey pregnant spiders. And that is very important Info.

8.31 - Kampuchea ADVENTURE!!!


8.31.2008
I am, as my family would say, very sapbai, happy. I am just now home after a long ride from Phnom Penh and my Kampuchea Adventure, or, as some like to call it, the KA. Once again, Peace Corps has found a way to easily insert acronyms into everyday life. But, I will start at the beginning. Actually, before the beginning.

Last Friday, I was packed for my KA (I like to be cool so I use the acronyms too) and went to a morning language class. I went to see the bread lady who happens to make sandwiches, as usual. Note about Cambodia…since there is an abundance of people who sell the same sort of thing, such as bread, or snacks, or shampoo, or waffles, you customarily pick one person that you like and that won’t overcharge you and go there every time. This, my bread lady, sells me bread for only 500 riel, or…about 15 cents. Her sandwich is only 1000 riel, a solid quarter. One this particular day, though, there happened to be a few boys (by boy I mean 20-25 year olds) near the stand, and since they saw the hot commodity of a foreigner, they went into a different mode. It was a girl hunting mode (that I barely understand…I mean, I have lost 12 pounds, but…). So, between them, and the old man holding the baby that I ended up holding as well, and the woman who owns the shop and the baby, I was questioned and I answered…

“I’m sorry, but no, I do not have money to give to you. Not that I would give you money even if I did have it” (I wish I had the Khmer to say that last phrase, but alas)…
“No, I do not have a boyfriend, a sweetheart, or a husband.”
“No, I do not want a boyfriend, a sweetheart, or a husband.”
“No, I do not need a boyfriend, a sweetheart, or you for a husband.”
“I’m sorry…but I have to teach, so you cannot be my husband.”

It was quite an adventure, and a very pleasant way to begin the morning. I was pretty pleased that I have the Khmer vocabulary words of need, and want, and have – they’re amazingly useful, especially when talking about money and men and any combination of the aforementioned topics.

But now on to the real adventure. The Kampuchea Adventure. By the way, no one says that better, with a more entertaining smile, than that of Dara, the head of language instruction and the guy that keeps testing us on our Khmer skills.

On Friday night we headed out, 6 barangs in our own taxi towards the city. It isn’t a far ride, 40 kilos or so, and we were lucky enough to see some of our comrades from another district as we drove into the Mekong section of town. Quite a stroke of luck given the size of the town. We grabbed a few tuk-tuks and headed to the Okay Guesthouse, which I recommend to anyone planning on a vaca around here. $7 a night will get you a room with two beds and a fan, $12 for some AC, and $2 for dorm style beds in another building. They serve great fruit shakes and are well known throughout the PC community, mainly because it is a cheap place very close to the Peace Corps Office.

We were hungry, and therefore went more only one person to the city, while the other districts are averaging 2 to 6 people sent than briskly to a close American style restaurant graciously led by one of the recent ‘sickies,’ or those who are ill enough that they need to go to Phnom Penh for a few days of rest and observation by the PCMO. I am proud to say that my village has sent up. Our restaurant, Freebird (thanks Lynard) was pricey, as most expat places are, but worth every sent. We had onion rings, French fries with ketchup, and a big juicy burger with all the fixings. 2 Dr. Peppers (one was free because I was a girl and it was happy hour or something) completed the meal that we enjoyed in a private room in the back while watching the movie Dodgeball on a big flatscreen TV. Talk about surreal.

But on to day 2. My partner and I woke up fairly early, enjoyed some American-style eggs in the Okay lounge, and went over to a market to catch a taxi (by taxi I mean a large van) to head over to our site, which is known as the Ompe Phnom Resort Town. After a little confusion about where the thing actually was, we ended up on the wrong end of a long entrance road with no way but walking to get to the other side. As PCT/PCVs, we are not allowed to ride on motos, which are the primary form of transportation in any town. We walked the long road, the obvious outsiders, and eventually reached the entrance. “Welcome to Ompe Phnom Resort.” We walked past a couple of guard-looking men who just looked at us with a curious stare, and then were almost immediately accosted by something of 5 to 7 women who wanted us to come to their stands for some food and relaxation. Being the necessarily frugal PCTs that we are, we said no thanks and walked to the bridge that we saw nearby.

This may have been my scariest moment of Peace Corps. This bridge, which cost 500 riel to get on, was a frightening mix of rotting wood and wire, and I called it (cordially of course, so not to upset it) the Bridge of Death. Underneath this bridge was a raging river (because what else would be under it!), and its unsteady boards and what seemed like mile long gaps made me hold on to the less-than-sturdy and less-than-comfortable wire for support. And I of course stopped for a photo.

After defying the Bridge of Death, we reached the other side, completely clueless as to what this town had to offer. We were once again accosted, but this time by a few older ladies who sold me some incense and tried to sell some lotus buds. Luckily, a banana selling woman took us under her wing and showed us the…wait for it…elephant! I was a foot away from an elephant and I touched its rough skin as he reached out his trunk for the bananas that I was offering (and ate them, peel and all). Then…another surprise – monkeys!!!! Cute ones, that reached up and grabbed bananas from me and expertly peeled them before they enjoyed. They were everywhere and I was amazingly happy with them.

We walked up and saw the temple, and I used my incense under the guidance of the temple keepers who dress in white and just sit and sing and pray. And as we walked down to see the community portion of the village, we ran into a party. In the ‘community temple,’ which is how I look at the pagoda complex, there was some meal taking place with a handful of important local people. I say important because they were wearing the white outfits and kroma scarves that resemble the temple keepers’ outfits. We showed the proper respect to Buddha by bowing thrice to the big shrine (with incense in hand) then trying not to burn ourselves as we put the smoking sticks into a big pot of sand with other burning sticks. This group of people was happy to watch, assist, and finally enjoy, as we sat and they offered us tea and water and plaiy tiap, which I hear is called a custard apple. We sat and talked with these great people and they quizzed us on our work, our place of residence, and some other things that we may or may not have heard correctly. I think both of us were pretty amazing that we can almost communicate with people.

We took the long trek back to the main road and thought, “let’s go into the nearby Kampong Spue and look around.” Of course, we ended up going the wrong direction and looking for a guest house that didn’t exist, then accidentally (seriously) going back to Phnom Penh. We had a nice chat in the van on the way, though, with more locals who were very excited to figure out why there were foreigners in this very un-touristy place. Kampong Spue province doesn’t exist in the majority of guidebooks that I paged through in search of information about my KA. In retrospect, I’m almost certain that it is a place for locals and less directed at the somewhat booming tourist population, mainly because it is not beach, not mountains, not Phnom Penh, and not Angkor Wat. It’s off the beaten path, wherein lies its charm.

We were dropped in the middle of the central market by the impromptu driver that we hailed on the side of the road, a very surreptitious enterprise. Basically, you stand on the road, and when you see a bus and someone sticks their hand out to wave at you, they stop, and you haggle and get in. It makes things easy.

So, having been to Phnom Penh for a very limited amount of time, we have basically no clue where we are. But, we looked around and found – who knew? – a mall! A real life, I-must-be-in-America mall. 5 stories of concrete and clothing and a supermarket, of escalators and fried chicken and gelato, of shoes and jewelry and price tags, of rich folks and barangs and money, of a cinema with a scary movie showing and a roller rink and chocolate, and of my favorite thing…pizza. We sat down and had some delicious pizza-hut style pizza and it was the most delicious thing I’ve ever had (since the day before when the most delicious thing I had was onion rings and Dr. Pepper and a burger). It was so amazing. And just $4.00. I don’t know how I will return to the States with the thought that a $5.00 meal is almost ridiculously expensive.

We made our way back to the Okay and began to walk around the city, where we found the Independence Monument and a lawn full of soccer and badminton, a fountain and a park, and another supermarket which we surveyed. Peanut Butter is $6.00 for a large jar…which makes me sad considering that is about 5 meals at home or more. Certainly more, actually.

We returned back to the Okay very satisfied that evening – let’s face it: it is the simple pleasures that the Peace Corps volunteers value the most. Pizza, overhead fan, hot water…it’s a good day.

But there was even more the next day. We met some of our comrades for breakfast at another, still expensive, expat restaurant – some friends that were living the life of AC at the nearby Oasis because they were sick. I enjoyed some English Breakfast Tea, some eggs over medium and toast (with butter…!!!!) and went over to the Peace Corps Office to pick up some books and enjoy the AC of the Volunteer room. Peace Corps is good. Peace Corps gave me mail (thanks grandma!). A quick jaunt to the famous Russian Market and then a group of us headed to another market to catch our taxi back home. But not before the car stopped at a ‘sin warehouse’ (our name, not theirs) to pick up heaven knows what for later consumption. All we saw was cases of beer and playing cards, so its hard to be sure. They filled up the back seat so full that the helper of the taxi (because every small company is run by a driver and an assistant) ended up on the roof for the duration of the trip. I think that this is not uncommon given that our taxi to Ompe Phnom had a similar status.

I did learn a few things about Phnom Penh, though.
For my salary, it is beyond expensive, and I’m sure that there will be a day where I will be so tired of it that I cannot face the thought of going. For now, it is nice, a good break at this stage of my life here, amid adjustment, but home is nice.

There are a ton of foreigners in Phnom Penh, both tourists and those who reside in the area, and I have found myself looking at them with a certain look of distaste, usually because I see far too much skin and it makes me cringe a bit. I cannot explain the feeling that I have about my fellow expats, but I’m feeling a little less American and a little more Khmer, and it is a strange transition.

My new favorite pastime is talking to the Phnom Penh natives in their own tongue. Moto and tuk-tuk drivers are particularly interested in offering me a high price to get somewhere, but my level headed, “no, thank you, I don’t need it,” makes them smile and start. Given the number of foreigners in the area, many of whom do not speak any Khmer, I am not surprised that my use of a few simple words shocks them, and I enjoy it immensely. The same was true in the market, when I bought a few things after bargaining in Khmer and the ladies (supposedly) gave me a better price because I spoke the language. I bought some bracelets for my sisters and paid $6 for 5, originally charged at $2 a piece.

Phnom Penh reminds me of the dollar store, because everything seems cheap, like a buck for a bracelet, of a buck for an ice cream, or a few dollars for some pizza, but it adds up and you end up spending more money than you planned on. Way too much. And since things are in dollars instead of riel, they seem so cheap!

But, at the same time, Phnom Penh is the double edged sword that we all love and love to hate. Expensive, but full of things that switch up our rice routine and give us some Americanism for a short while. You can’t help but like it a little.