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 som
e 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.
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 som
e 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. 
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