Firsts and Lasts

After two long years in the Peace Corps, my service has come to a close. Two years served, hours spent in a hammock, 100 books digested, hundreds of students taught, thousands of connections made, and what seems like millions of photos taken, and here I am, a 23 year old RPCV ready to continue work in another capacity. I feel like I’ve done many different things in my service. I wrote some books for others to use, put on 4 girls’ camps, taught in a rural school, learned a language, figured out how to sew and bake, and hopefully changed myself into a more culturally sensitive human/woman/American. It is difficult to see the change that I’ve supposedly brought to the village in which I lived. I see much more change within myself, in the person that I’ve become. I feel more confident, more able to manage myself in the world in which I live. But enough about this...

I’ve chosen to not leave Cambodia. Of the group in which I came, I am one of 5 who have chosen to stay on for at least one more year. While this country and the time difference between here and my own home country seem to offer endless frustration, I have also fallen in love with the people. I’ve also gotten a job at an organization that I have unlimited respect for. In fact, I’ve just finished my first week there as an odd admin. I will be implementing the new library system, giving bar codes and ID tags to students and books and magnifying glasses. I will work on PR, updating the website and writing some newsletter items. I will also do several other sorts of things as needed. They haven’t come up yet, but we will see. I’m absolutely thrilled at this opportunity. Absolutely thrilled.

Beyond the job, I’ve also moved. I am now the proud renter of a humble little Khmer apartment in some semblance of the typical style. Wood floors, spacious rooms... and everything I need to be happy. And really, as it is my first every own apartment, I felt as if I should do a series of firsts of the place.

It was, after all, the first place I saw when I started my search. That has to mean something, right?

First thing that sold me on the place: the bathtub. And tied: The landlady.
First thing I brought upstairs: The orange backpack that I brought with me to Peace Corps.
First thing in my fridge: One bottle of rose wine and one bottle of vodka.
First visitor: Fellow K2 Tyler.
First pillows: Awful. Second pillows: From hotel supply store.
First purchase for the place: Shelves for the kitchen and bathroom.
First problem: Ants in the honey. Ants in the bathtub. Ants in the bedroom. Ants all over.
First call to the landlady: Please make the kitchen sink turn on!
First use of the oven/stove: Foccaccia bread and sauce.
First funny: Well, I moved into a fairly commercial area, which means that there is a restaurant next door, a hotel across the street, various shops and schools nearby and a business next door. The place next door has a very pretty and colorful sign with a butterfly on it, noting that it is a spa. So, one day, I walked out of my house with some time to spare to run some errands and I decided to pop in and have a quick look at the spa menu, thinking how fortunate it would be if there was a cheap massage place just next door. So, I walk in to a lovely garden full of flowers, see lots of young guys in pseudo-uniforms around, and enter the office to ask for the menu. The boys quickly come into the office and, thinking nothing of a lot of people working somewhere and getting excited when someone comes in. But then, I hear one of the boys say in Khmer, “go inside for her to look,” and I slowly turn around, to find nothing else than all of the boys standing behind a glass window with a bright fluorescent light on. It is at this moment that I realize that I am in the wrong place. It is equally this time when the boys realize that I realize that I am in the wrong place. They giggle. I giggle. And I walk out as briskly as I politely can, now knowing that I live not next to a nice spa, but next to a gay men’s brothel disguised as one.

And that's what I've got so far... More updates about the firsts in my life to come....

Music, Music, Music

Upon half-heartedly glancing at old blogs and thinking what I was dancing to at that moment, it occurred to me that I haven’t written a blog yet about one of the things that I find most dear to my heart: music. I cannot believe my negligence. Music is one of the few things that has stayed constant in my service, unlike my stomach, my clothing, and my cooking prowess. And so, I would like to share with you (and I debated with myself quite heavily while I bathed this evening) the music that I have through the many situations I encounter in my strange life here.

Let me first say that I have in my music collection (and I have scaled it down considerably in my free time here) a total of almost 9,000 songs, which is 41.91 GB and 25.7 days of solid tunage. I have, over the course of several bored weekends, acquired all of the album artwork for these songs and catalogued them tirelessly in my quest for the most organized music collection possible. This is only moderately successful, as I seem to double my music collection upon every training event that brings a group of Volunteers together. I still have my favorites, of course, and I have listened to the majority of the library... but there are always more gems to be uncovered...

With that, here goes my list... and this is just full albums, albums that I can actually listen to most of the songs on...

FOR TAXI RIDES. The road is too bumpy to read anything without giving even the strongest stomach a bit of car sickness, and it is approximately an hour from my A to their B. My goals are to stay perky and effectively ignore mostly everyone in the car, unless (like last Sunday) there is a really cool old fella in need of a smile and introduction into the world of the iPod. Plus, the music in the car is usually not conducive to music... So, I listen to comedy shows:

1. Jim Gaffigan – Beyond the Pale
2. Dane Cook – Harmful if Swallowed
3. Mitch Hedberg – Strategic Grill Locations

FOR WORK-OUTS. I’ve got a bike, and ride it often. The best tunes I’ve found for these little treks (nothing angry, because I’m in a village and want to be upbeat, nothing too slow for me to lose motivation, and nothing too offensive, because I’m pretty focused on the music) is...

1. The Neptunes – Clones
2. Outkast – Idlewild
3. Clipse – Hell Hath No Fury

FOR HAMMOCKS. Hammocks are great, and require a certain amount of chillaxin music to offer the premium amount of R & R. Here’s what I’ve got for that.

1. Maxwell – Urban Hang Suite
2. K-os – Atlantis: Hymns for Disco or Yes!
3. Nneka – No Longer At Ease

FOR DANCING. The tunes that will make me dance, no matter the audience.

1. Michael Jackson – Thriller, or Jackson 5 Music
2. Beyonce – I am... Sasha Fierce
3. Justin Timberlake – Future Sex / Love Sounds

FOR REFLECTION. You can’t always be perky, and you have to retreat into some music for some deep breaths...

1. Murder By Death – In Bocca al Lupo
2. 16 Horsepower – Sackcloth and Ashes
3. John Williams – Memoirs of a Geisha Score

FOR COOKING. When I bake, I must dance. Sometimes I sing as well.

1. Amy Winehouse – Back to Black
2. Queen – Sheer Heart Attack
3. Roison Murphy – Ruby Blue

AND FOR ALL THOSE OTHER TIMES. Maybe I’ll go by genre... and try my best to be comprehensive...

Stuff that reminds me of my mama...

Led Zeppelin – Black Dog, Ramble on, The Ocean
Queen – Killer Queen, Bicycle Race, Brighton Rock
Rush – Tom Sawyer
The Who – Pinball Wizard

Stuff that I never knew about until Cambodia...

Citizen Cope – Brother Lee, Nite Becomes Day
Handsome Boy Modeling School – World’s Gone Mad, The Projects
K’naan – The entire Dusty Foot Philosopher & Troubadour albums
Tosca, the opera

My top-played albums...

Mos Def – The Ecstatic
Santogold – Santogold
Rhymefest – Blue Collar

Favs from Cambodia...

Rob Viktum – Progress, An Audio Tribute to the Cambodian People
Ros Sereysothea – Any and All Music (found on the City of Ghosts Soundtrack)
Khemerak Sreymoun – Any and All Music (found on VCDs throughout Cambodia)
Dengue Fever – Dengue Fever

Odd Finds...

Shantel – Disko Partizani
The Books – Thought for Food
Balkan Beat Box – Nu Med

Best Soundtracks...

American Beauty
Kill Bill 1 & 2
Ocean’s Eleven

Best Happy Music...

Bobby McFerrin – Don’t Worry, Be Happy
Ray Charles – Best of
Mika – Life in Cartoon Motion

Hip Hop...

The Gypsies – One Hand Up
Jaylib – Champion Sound
Q-Tip – The Renaissance, Aplified
Raekwon – Only Built for Cuban Linx II
Rakim – The Seventh Seal

Mix-Ups...

Jay-Z and Coldplay – Viva La Hova
Wu Tang Clan and the Beatles – Enter the Magical Mystery Chamber
Verve // Remixed

Other...

The Soul of John Black – The Good Girl Blues
The Best of Sting and the Police
Tom Waits – Real Gone

There’s more of course... but whenever I work on my computer, my iTunes is set to permanent shuffle, so I always get something I didn’t even know I wanted!

Grandma, Grandma, I CAN COOK!!!

I discovered a new passion... One that I am actually pretty decent at. And so, yes, grandma, I CAN COOK!!! I suppose a lot of things change in two years, and this girl that could never even be bothered to boil water is now working on recipes that span hours (and one that’s going to span a few days...). Not only that, but I’ve learned how to do it all with the very basics in supplies and groceries. The butter we have is Thai and wouldn’t make it to the table in the states. The milk I have is only to be found in cans. The oven is the size of my microwave in Iowa. And yet, I have managed to do some incredible things. At least, I think that they are incredible, but what isn’t after 5 meals with nothing but rice and pork and a veggie here and there? We’ll save the final verdict until later, but here’s some of what I’ve been working on:

First off, I bake bread. And rolls, and sticky buns and all manner of breaded goods. Most of them require (at least) 1-2 hours of rising time, when I usually putter around Oly’s place and read his newspaper. Or, I work on some other recipe that I wanted to try. I chop, I grate (without a grater), I juice (I have a juicer), and I mix (by hand). And I must say, I never knew how easy some of these things could be. I made awesome homemade applesauce in under an hour. It was considerably easier than getting in the car, driving to the grocery, getting a basket, picking out the right brand and flavor, paying, dealing with the issues of plastic bags and the environment, and carting the darned stuff home. Peel. Chop. Boil. Season. Mash. Done. And it was way better than the rest. But, back to bread. Oly has a book of breads for children that I am systematically baking through. Here's what I’ve made so far:

- Dinner Rolls (nestled together in the pan, very lover-like).
- Challah (Hallah), which is of Jewish origin and braided and triple tiered.
- Pita Bread (for homemade hummus)
- Biscuits from scratch!
- Tortilla Bread (for homemade fajitas)
- Oatmeal Bread (which we ate with a Spanish Omelet)
- Sticky Buns (My family ADORED these)
- Pie Crust
- Homemade Pumpkin Pie... from scratch...

I’ve got a lot more cooking to do, but I’m racking up quite a recipe book of things that I can make. My new favorite vegetable is eggplant and my favorite seasoning is rosemary.

Also, I’ve hosted a dinner party! I made fresh baked pita bread to go with hummus, mashed up potatoes, and created skewers for the barbeque for all my pals in Thmar Puok. I even have my own apron, tailored especially for me.
I am very excited by this, as I’m sure you can tell... and if you have any recipes that don’t have silly ingredient lists, send them my way!!

See more pictures here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2029550&id=72901581&l=efd03f89ee

Thoughts for the Day

I’m realizing that it has been some time since I have added to this blog of mine. It has become increasingly difficult to write about the things that I find so normal now. Well, a grain of salt sort of normal. It has also been so hot that even sitting and writing felt like a chore. But now, with the rains beginning and the cool air breezing through my windows, my head is finally clear enough to put a few thoughts onto the web.
Very soon, I will leave this place that I call home to find a new one. July will find me in Siem Reap, teaching for a fabulous school called JPA, which is the most American thing I’ve ever seen in the town. It is well funded, well managed, and all around amazing for the students that will go on to American universities after they graduate from this K-12 school. More on that later, though. For now, I’m thinking about how upset I will be when I leave my home in Thmar Puok Village.
Recently it struck me just how many people I’ve interacted with in two years. I suppose it isn’t that surprising (two years is a loooong time), but at the same time, I had felt as if I had gotten into a bit of a habit of seeing the same people over and over again. I eat at the same restaurants, I teach the same students, and I interact with a certain group of people related to me and my family. But then, just last week, I went on a long bike ride through the more remote villages in the district. I rode past one student’s house, where I once went to a festival meant to send his older brother into monkhood... I went past the pagoda where I talked with the old men that I see there every time... I went past the place where I found shelter once in a rainstorm... I stopped and talked with some old women about the party I came to and they told me I dance better than some Khmers... I said hello to at least 6 students whose names I actually remembered... And I ran into the other barang in the village. Even while I spoke with him, three out of the four people who drove past knew me and said hello: One, a student who studies with a friend of mine. Two, another teacher whose family I know quite well. And three, a man whose wedding I participated in, a man who works with my cousin.
After this, as well as a barang / barang incident in Siem Reap (At one restaurant, I knew people seated at two different tables), it suddenly hit me that I have met so many people in this place. That this small village in the middle of the rice fields of Cambodia has become one more home for me. I love it here, and I only have to go a short distance to find a friend.
I’ve been thinking recently about an article that my mom sent me ages ago, something in the DSM Register about a young girl who came to Cambodia and volunteered for a few weeks here. I don’t quite know what brought it up into my mind, but I kept thinking about how brisk it all is. I see with so many volunteering things terms of just a few weeks, a month maybe. What I’ve seen from my service is that the most effective thing that I have done is to make a solid connection with people. We make some sense to one another, we found something in common. I stopped being an alien to them, and became just a friend. We joke around, we laugh together, and we’ve become buddies in a way that would have been impossible my first few weeks at site. These relationships have made my service a success. They have also made it almost impossible for me to think of leaving.
And so, the job search begins. With any luck, I’ll be able to find work in a different field, something closer to the refugee services that I once did and would like to do once more. And then, eventually, maybe I’ll be able to find myself falling in love with another country’s people, and make another home away from home.

Photos

Check out some Khmer New Year photos here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2028782&id=72901581&l=dc9fab3a6b

New Year!!!

The fine details of the Khmer New Year festivities!
So, the lovely country that I currently inhabit just finished celebrating its new year, which marks the new year of the tiger... For Cambodia, the three official days of celebration are somehow turned into a month of fun and games, which I fully participated in. I thought I would describe some of the more entertaining of the games and give you the tools to prepare for your next Cambodian Festival. Basically, though, have as much fun as you can in 100 degree heat by drinking and dancing out the bad of the previous year. And take every opportunity you can to hang out with the opposite sex because the rules are a bit more relaxed when all of the matriarchs are cooking and drinking and all the men can’t keep their hands off the liquor.
1. Home Altar... Every house has a little altar devoted to appeasing the ancestors inside their home. In my house, this was on the open area outside my room. There was a table with incense and candles, religious flags, money, soda, milk, fruits of all kinds, and some shiny things to scare away the bad spirits. Incense was burned there daily and the offerings were consumed after the third day of celebration.
2. Alcohol... No Festival would be complete without some liquor, most commonly beer. Rice wine, palm wine, and muscle wine are all acceptable for your festivities, though, as long as they are accompanied by loud music (sometimes karaoke) and speakers the size of an average car.
3. Food... Eat some Khmer curry and lots of mangoes. Tis the season.
4. Karaoke... is one of the most important activities for a successful party. Sing it with your family, all hours of the day, or if you are with another barang, sing it in a bar with a few Khmer folk listening in on your renditions of ‘I will survive,’ ‘These boots were made for walking,’ and ‘Billie Jean.’ I did do this, in a bar, in Siem Reap, with my pal Jan.
5. Powder / Water... Give your future sweetheart a chance to touch your face in public as he smears baby powder on your face as a wish of good luck for the holiday. I was caught at three parties smeared with baby powder and caught once, no twice, on the street by parties traveling with their powder. Or, if powder and close contact isn’t your bag, try slinging water on whoever goes past. On the last day of the new year, as I found out the hard way, is less of a baby powder smear and more of an ashes sort of smear. I was walking along the street and saw a parade of people smeared entirely in black soot, which was then smeared onto me. They got my arms, legs, neck, and every inch of my face. The best part, though, was going home and watching my family burst out in uncontrollable laughter at the picture that I made.
Games to play...
1. Food eating contests and races... I saw apple eating contests, watermelon eating contests, and some contest where you were only allowed to eat fruit hanging from a string by pushing against your opposite sexed counterpart. There was also a contest where the girls had to peel some small fruits and feed them to the boys in front of them.
2. Slow Biking Contest... Whoever finishes last wins.
3. Tug of War... Thankfully not a boy versus girl situation.
4. Blindfolded Tag... The two people who are ‘it’ have blindfolds on and feel around for all the people that are unable to leave the circle that has been drawn in the dirt. Surprisingly more difficult than you would imagine.
5. Greasy Pole... Money at the top, and a tall and slippery surface in between.
6. Egg and Spoon Contest... Try to carry an egg on a spoon to your friend at the end of the line, transfer the egg, then watch your partner try not to drop it on the way back.
7. Sack Races... I saw a girl who had to wait a few minutes before she could get out the sack as she had lost her skirt in her enthusiasm.
8. Water Transfer Contest... Take a big sip of water, carry it across a length, then spit it into a bottle. First to fill up the bottle is the winner 
9. Balloon Popping Contest... A chance to be rude with a member of the opposite sex as you pop balloons in between your bodies as fast as you possibly can.
10. Musical Chairs... I won once, but only because I pulled a fast one on my competitor by taking the chair elsewhere for me to sit.
11. Clay Piñata... It looks as dangerous as it sounds, trust me... but the prizes inside are much better, candy and cash doused with baby powder.
12. Chopsticks Contest... Try to keep some small hard object in chopsticks from one end of the line to the other. Very difficult!

You know you've been in Cambodia too long when...

You know you’ve been a Volunteer in Cambodia too long when...
... Inspired by fellow Volunteer from Britain (Oly).

...you hand things to people with two hands instead of one.
...after a few meals of Western food (which make you wonder why you decided to eat dairy products), you begin to crave the taste of rice with a simple stir fry.
...all your clothes have been destroyed through a combination of hand-washing, sweat stains, and animal teeth.
...you don’t care that all your clothes are destroyed because you no longer care what you look like.
...you begin to feel chilly at 75 degrees.
...you forget that most TV shows have commercials, and that most seasons of TV shows don’t come in a box for under ten dollars.
...you haven’t the slightest clue what’s happening culturally in your country and your idea of the latest tunes are actually from 10 years ago.
...you pick up a new vocabulary consisting of KhmEnglish words sprinkled with slang from other foreigners...
...the percentage of your time spent on work here is similar to the percentage of time you spent on leisure at home.
...you can finally begin to imagine how life was in the olden days, before transport, electricity, and McDonald’s.
...you are constantly drenched with sweat, laundry water, or rain.
...the 7 hour trip to Phnom Penh “isn’t that bad.”
...the very odd Asian clothes in the market that you once saw in disgust (think ribbons, bows, huge buttons, sewn-in layers, bright colors, and English phrases of nonsense) look wearable.
...you do actually buy clothes from the market and sport them around for your friends.
...you can win a stare down with anyone... anyone.
...condensed milk is a staple of your diet, with sugar, rice, and water.
...days and months have little to no meaning in your daily life.
...cultural guilty pleasures have no ‘guilty’ attached to them.
...you find yourself dependent on things like tiger balm, cooling powder and mosquito coils.
...you find yourself no longer dependent on Wal-Mart, watches and other very American things.
...you begin to have trouble interacting with other foreigners or understanding an English speaker from your country.
...people who just got here confuse you.
...‘late’ is 10 instead of 3.
...you forget holidays that would have been a huge deal back home.
...you’ve seen or heard any number of variations on your name... Kokey, Kelshie, Kel (sigh), etc... and decided to adopt a Khmer name out of ease... mine is ‘Bopha.’
...you listen to enough music to realize how much of it is stolen among artists.
...you have the time to do just about anything you want.
...you have the money to live like a rock star on $100 a month.
...you have been dreaming of the day when you’ll reunite with your family in the airport.
...you find it odd to get a drink to go that’s not in a bag.

New Post!

This morning I woke up with an inexplicably strong craving for mashed potatoes and gravy. Something about the way the light was in my room, or the bed, or my dreams, made me think that I was in grandma’s spare bedroom on a Sunday morning. The blaring wedding music and the roosters chased away the feeling quite quickly, but it was strong this morning. I also had a flashback to the aisles of Indianola’s Wal-Mart while I strolled through the market this morning. At the moment, I’m sitting on my friend’s balcony looking at the dusty streets of the city, watching motos drive by. One’s carrying a ladder. Another driver just stop to pee across the street on a cement wall. He’s not the first one I’ve seen today. It’s remarkably temperate today; the night before last we had a thunderstorm that made the heat less sweltering than usual. In fact, I could be forgiven for thinking it felt like Iowa right now. I miss it quite a lot.

However, I also think that I would miss this country if I left. The stresses are so different, the pressures unusual. Personality wise, I feel quite able to let go and feel more like myself. I feel less pressure to know every aspect of my future, less pressure to work myself into the ground, less pressure to look a certain way. I find the relief of these pressure pleasant. There are different stresses, though; I haven’t shown my shoulders for some time, or been out past 10, or been able to go somewhere without being stared at. It’s something of a trade off. (There is another man peeing on the wall now.) I still like it here. We’ll see how I feel after April, because I’m not planning on leaving my province. I may even have a few things to write about, with my first big Khmer holiday that I’m actually going to participate in. Wish me luck! For now, I’ll just try to find something to fill the void of grandma’s food in my tummy...

Time is FLYING!!!

It feels like time is flying. There is less than 7 months left in my service, which I realize sounds like a long time, but between travelling, goodbyes, and all the frills and thrills of COS, I know that these next few months will fly. This realization paired with the knowledge that some people in my group are going home even sooner has led the volunteers in my area to speculation of our lives at home. They say that culture shock is twice as bad when it is in your own country, and I must agree.

My life here has been an intense and exciting trip into the unknown, but it has also been incredible to behold. I’ve changed so many parts of my life and have found a niche in my village. I know how to get around without anything besides bargaining power and am beginning to function as an adult (this is aided in part by the many example adults I have as friends). However, I do not quite know how to be an adult in a non-Southeast Asian country. This was not part of the instruction I have received from my Peace Corps experience.

First Example:

When I shop for anything, from clothing to toothpaste to travel to groceries, I bargain. They charge me more because my white skin shimmers with dollar signs and my scratchy Khmer reminds them of the ring of a cash register (if in fact they had cash registers… they usually just have fanny packs or baskets full of crumpled bills). If I can’t get them down to a price that I find acceptable, I walk away until they call me back and allow me to pay my (fairer) price. The walk-away works particularly well with tuk-tuk drivers and grocery sellers; in this country they are the opposite of few and far between.

I can see myself in Wal-Mart now… After I’ve stood in the doorway gawking at the high ceilings and praising the weather controller, said hello to whoever was at the door, and stared at a few of the customers in concern, I’ll wander back to the ‘fresh’ foods and try to find something familiar.

“Ma’am, how much is this?”

I’ll say, because just last week, when my students asked me what the words ‘price tag’ meant, I remembered that I haven’t seen one in almost two years. She’ll no doubt look at me with disgust, turn to show me the back of the blue vest, and throw a, “look at the price tag,” over her shoulder. I will, then, look at the price tag…

“$5.00 for bananas??!!??!?! That’s outrageous! Would you take $2.50?”

At this point, I’m sure I’ll be looking at the blur that used to be the saleswoman, as she flees in fear from the out of control girl in the grocery aisle. Perhaps I’ll take my small bunch of (not very good) bananas to the counter and ask the cashier to accept my discount.

“Coupon?”

“No.”

“Sale?”

“Umm…”

“That’ll be $5.00.”

“That’s crazy! You sure you won’t take $2.50? If you don’t, I’m gonna walk away. I will!”

“…”

“Okay, I’m walking away… This is me walking away… I’m going to another seller…”

“…”

“Do you have change for a 10?”

Second Example:

Restaurants here in Cambodia have different rules than those back in America. Every morning, I have a delicious breakfast consisting of coffee and noodle soup (guey tio), in which I dump some chili sauce, pepper, lime, and sugar. In this tiny little restaurant, I am always the only foreigner (I can count on one hand the number of times this wasn’t true). I am also usually the only woman. Here in Cambodia, morning coffee is male bonding time. Other times include lunchtime muscle wine, afternoon Johnny Walker, and evening rice wine. Or anytime cigarettes, for that matter. Sometimes, a patron brings his wife or child, and this person sits quiet and awkward for the entire meal. Well, now that I think about it, meals aren’t really used for conversation as they are in Cambodia. They are used for excessive littering, mouth noise-making, and all manner of rude behavior involving the wait staff.

I can just see myself in Applebee’s…

“Heeyyyy!!!! Food!”

“Yes, miss, can I take your order?”

“[grunt] salad [grunt] coke.”

“Sorry, miss? What was that?”

“[grunt] SALAD [grunt] COKE!”

“Miss, you’re gonna need to be a little more specific.”

“RICE! ARGH!”

This will present something of a problem for me. I also expect in this little outing that I will do one of the following things:

1. Throw something I consider trash on the floor.

2. Yell across the restaurant at the waiter with one lengthy syllable.

3. Slurp or otherwise make a mess.

4. Wipe everything on the table down with a paper napkin, then proceed to throw that napkin on the floor.

5. Sit on the table.

6. Eat the second the food arrives at the table.

7. Use something at the table (perhaps a toothpick) to perform some form of personal hygiene.

8. Say the word ‘delicious’ more times than necessary.

Third Example:

My life here is fraught with attention. Children are either too scared to say something to me or much too brave to say anything normally. They will either shy away from me or yell in my face. There is very little middle ground. I receive an average of 3-6 ‘hello!’s every time I leave the house. This is possibly why I do not leave the house remarkably often. The ‘hello!’s are not limited to children, though. Far from it! With the women, it is usually supplemented with a “srai sa’at,” or “pretty girl” along with some tongue clucking. With the men, it is usually accompanied with some kissing or grunting noises and again, “srai sa’at,” though you can use your imagination to consider the differences in tones between the genders. In fact, perhaps I will break it down for you a little more clearly.

For a child:

“Hello!” means “Holy crap! A white person!! Is she the ghost that my mom keeps telling me about?!” (or) “A foreigner! I’ve never seen anything that tall and fat and pale before!”

For a teenage girl:

“How much skin whitening cream will I need to buy to get skin that color?”

For an adult woman:

“Wow, I wish my skin was that color!” (or) “A girl by herself? What a shame to her family she must be!” (or) “Why does she have so much hair on her arms? Why is her hair so curly? I wonder if she’s married. I wonder if she’s with a Khmer man… How old could she be? She looks too old to be single. When will she get married? (The train of thought doesn’t stop here…)”

For an adult man:

“Daaaammmmnnnnnn!! (The rest is censored… I want to keep this PG).”

I’m sure that walking down the street and being the same color as the majority of the population will be a bit difficult at first. After all, I’ve gotten used to being a celebrity in my little village. I’ve even had to turn away photographers (and that was very unpleasant… a stranger on a moto pulled up to me one day, rather pulled up into my path to stop me, and shoved his phone in my face. It didn’t end well.)

Well, that’s all for now. There are some things that I am looking forward to, I must say. For one, I’m looking forward to ovens not being a rare sight. All appliances, really. Washing machines are in my dreams… TV that doesn’t involve soap operas from across Asia… Dairy products… Something other than ‘hotter than hell’… Libraries… Lots.

Asian Mickey Dees

Bangkok. Christmas. Awesome.

At Mickey Dees in Asia, Ron welcomes you as everyone else does :)

Also, the Subway had a great sign in Thai that talked about how to order your sub... What a place this Bangkok is!