Leavin’ on a Jet Plane May 16, 2009

It’s true.  I did leave, for real, and even on a jet plane…I really hope that I’ll be back again.  And yes, babe, I hated to go…

So, I put on my Cambodian PJs (involving Thomas the train, a pink train, and the phrases “Bon Voyage,” “Lucky Destination,” and “Hello…” the perfect departure attire)  and headed to the office to say goodbye to everyone–not the easiest thing to do, especially when there’s more than one culture present.

When Jennie left, she was pretty respectful of the culture and didn’t hug anyone.  I was thinking a little more selfishly (or wasn’t thinking at all), as I hugged everyone.  These wonderfully modest Cambodians who don’t even accidentally touch women (except during the Khmer New Year, but that’s a completely different story) were a little appalled at my quickness to hug them.  I honestly didn’t think about it, like I should, so I gave out hugs like the Easter bunny gives candy.  I got some funny looks, very stiff arms, and some flat-out refusals, but I think everyone survived.  Actually, I honestly don’t know cause I left.  Oh well.

Then I went to the airport.

I do not understand who let Touc (pronounced Too-ik), the friendly and goofy van driver,  bring me to the airport.  I mean, I got there in one piece–well, actually more like 5 if you include my luggage.  He dropped me off and left me all alone. I stood there at the curb looking at my 2 humongous bags, my back pack, and my 15 kg/40 lb carry on.  It took me a while to figure out the best way to bring them all together with me to the counter.  Or what I thought was the best way…

I put my backpack on, strapped my carry on over my shoulder (and behind me), and pulled one bag in each hand behind me.  Now, I was excited that I didn’t have to get a luggage cart, but I forgot to review the rules of physics that I learned in high school.  All of my luggage (1.5 X my body weight) was behind me… All was fine until one of my bags got caught on something and I had to back up.  Simple, right?  Just back up and un-hook it?  As soon as I shifted my weight backward, I knew it was all over. My normally centered balanced was now centered 5 feet behind me and I dove.  Backwards. To the ground, or actually, on top of 4 bags of luggage (a nicer landing for sure!).  This would have been less awkward if I didn’t have an audience, but I had quite a large audience in fact.  I’m just glad I figured out how to get up!

Then, on the flight to Hong Kong I sat next to a Khmer man who tried to convince me that prohok (fermented fish, that Cambodians dare to call “cheese!”)  was amazing, even though simple logic screams “Disgusting!!!”  I tried speaking Khmer with him, but he was a Cambodian American, and really didn’t want to mess with my limited language ability.  We Americans, so efficient!  But he did teach me the consonants of the alphabet, so I spent my flight practicing them.  He told me that I was like a first grader.  That’s awesome.

When I finally arrived in the states, LA to be specific, people looked at me like I was strange or something… (yes, walked in to that one).  I successfully ignored them until a 2 year old child came up to me and offered part of her peanut butter sandwich.  Her mom, looking a little frightened,  says to her, “Yes honey…she likes Thomas the Tank Engine” too!  (I had completely forgotten about my pajamas!) Then some security guard asked if these were my regular clothes or pajamas.  I didn’t even know how to answer that!!!  I’m just glad I hadn’t put on my arm socks, hat, scarf, and toe nylons…yet…

So, yes, I’m home…or in Wisconsin anyway:)  And, it’s very cold in this Coen brother’s movie.  But, I’m making friends at the Hmong grocery store (has lychee juice and sticky rice!) and am also working to increase the attentiveness of drivers in my hometown.  Hopefully, my Phnom Penh biking skills won’t result in catastrophy!

Stay tuned!  All my love!

The first of the last days April 12, 2009

That’s right.  Our time is almost up.

This may be a little heavy for a blog intro…  As much as I may claim to understand “the end times” and “armageddon,” I really have no where near the knowledge of which to blog about… but has that stopped me before? 

Of course not.

Yesterday was our last language lesson with our amazing and wonderful teacher, Kakada.  Yes, his name is pronounced just as it’s spelled–no mysterious vowel #43 in the Khmer language.  (For real, they have like over 40 different vowel sounds…My thoughts exactly.)    Being the last lesson, I got a little sentimental (Really?)  So, let me recall some of the most wonderful moments for  you with this hilarious man….

First of all, let me describe him.  Maybe 4’5,” Asian (what!?), more specifically, Cambodian, smiling all the time, except when telling jokes, and the only one in the Khmer Language School that wears a non-matching shirt.  That’s right.  Every day, the teachers all wore the same color shirt and every day was a different color.  Except Kakada, he never matched, except one time–and that was definitely by accident…or to keep his job. Maybe he’s a little cocky…but he’s earned it.  After 2 months of language, if our teacher was switched because he was sick, we wouldn’t even go.  Demanding?  Yeah, some things in Cambodia you just gotta be picky about!

He spoke English pretty well…I’d put him on a tier 2 (these tiers are my made up levels of Asian-English proficiency.  Some of our friends are 1.  Some are 2.  Some are on the watch list.  Some are 3.  And some don’t even register.  Kinda like my Khmer.  And since they’re my made up levels, that description helps you not at all.  Let’s just say, he knew quite a few words and some basic grammar, but the pronunciation was at times surprising.)

For example, he was teaching us the word for big in khmer which is thom (no, not thom/fom (for my lisping friends) or dom or tom, but T-hom).  So, when giving t-hom an English counterpart, he says “bij.” or to our ears “bitch.”  (Sorry, for those of you who thought this would be a G rated blog.  I guess it just got a little PG 13…ya might wanna scroll down.)  He probably says the word, “bitch,” like 10 times during the span of 3 minutes.  Once we realized what he was intending to say, we stopped crying and began to try desperately hard not to laugh.  I think of all things in Cambodia, not laughing is the most difficult!

Another time, he was teaching us the word for tourist.  OK, more accurately, 4 other times (we missed a lesson here and there and so we ended up reviewing/learning the same material 4 lessons in a row…).   There is a sentence that he was trying to teach us to say, which I don’t know why we needed to learn, since it wasn’t even true.  But, here’s the English sentence: “I am a tourist.”  Seems simple enough.  Here’s the Khmer sentence: “Khnom gu cia neak tissajaw.”  Here’s the Khmenglish/Kakada sentence, “I…am… a…TOURISM!” (yes, slowly and dramatically).  Now, he would correct himself, but like all of us, he never learned the first time… or the second time… or the third time… and by the fourth time he said that sentence, i was silently begging him to say it correctly because i knew i couldn’t hold in the laughter.  He didn’t, and I couldn’t.

There were definitely other times in our lessons where we definitely did not realize he was speaking English.  One of them in particular was most disappointing.  We knew he was speaking Khmer because he said the following words while describing a friend.  “Koat (Ko-aht) mook (moke) pii (pee)”  That means, in English “he/she came from…” THen he says the word tooky.  Yes, Tooky.  I was so excited.  I mean, how cool is that word?  Tooky tooky tooky!  Jennie and I looked at each other in excitement after repeating it for him like 6 times to make sure our oo was accurate. Then we asked him “What’s a tooky?”  He says “Tooky… the country, Tooky.  I am speak English.”  The disappointment we felt in that moment was just enough to keep us from busting a gut.  I really wanted to learn Tooky.

There are so many words and stories, but I will leave you with this final thought, also to dispel any other rumors.  During our first few months taking language, Kakada would occasionally make jokes about us being a couple.  For example, as he teaches us the word for friend, he then casually throws in the question, “Are you two more than friend? Just kidding, just kidding!”  Then he’d change the subject and Jennie and I would just sit there confused.  So, the last lesson, I just had to do it.  I popped the question.  No, I didn’t propose to Jennie, I asked Kakada if he thought we were gay when we first started.  Well, he responded by teaching us the words for gay, and lady killer (don’t know why that came up), and then admitting that he did think we were a couple.  So, we got to dispel that rumor, and just in case any of you had any questions to our sexual orientation, we are both straight.  Jennie has an engagement ring (to Mick) to prove it, and well, you’ll just have to take my word for it! 

So, we are counting down.  3 days til Jennie hops on the plane, 15 days until I do the same.  Thanks all for your love and support, and I look forward to catching up with you in person.  And I will show you the pictures I am much to lazy to put online.

Icy Hot April 3, 2009

I’ve always thought the concept of icy hot was strange. I remember thinking as a little kid, who had issues with “hot ears” (for those of you that have not suffered this terrifying condition as a child, let me explain: you lie down–lay down…no, lie down–to sleep peacefully on your pillow, and then it happens.  Your ears are on fire.  You pray that there’s a fire and you can escape the heat.  So you sniff the air for smoke and search for flames on your bed, but to no avail.  The heat is coming from inside of your ears.  The worst part of this condition is that it is unpredictable, but predictably inconvenient…and always at night.  Many an embarrassing night at a friend’s house was spent with cool rags from their bathroom around my head and water all over their pillows…sorry Heather and Erin and Krysta and I think those were all the friends I had at that time, that would explain your mildewy pillows!)   that I would never want anything both freezing and scalding at the same time. I recant.
No, don’t worry, I am not in the hospital with a broken back, foot, or head. I just have a cold. But this cold is causing my body a great deal of confusion.
You see, I am from the Midwest. And I get my colds in winter. For those of you not familiar with Midwestern winters, let me briefly describe them (though no description can replace actually attempting to survive them).
Read carefully, and no these are not exaggerations or “you might be a redneck/wisconsinite if…” jokes. These are the cold hard facts.
Wisconsin winters get so cold that they result in the following problems: cars not starting, boogers turning to ice immediately upon exiting a house (yes, good luck blowing those out!), hair turning to icicles (and possibly breaking off…never seen it, but i’ve been warned!), school being closed, not because of the snow (though also not out of the equation), but because it’s too cold to safely go outside, and by go outside, I don’t mean play outside for recess (duh…recess is indoors from December-February), I mean, go outside to the car, get in, drive to school, get out, and walk to the school from the curb.
So yes, it’s cold.
As I’ve previously mentioned, the weather here in Cambodia is slightly different. Though I feel my body has adjusted a bit to the amount of sweat and heat I radiate daily, it had no idea what to do when I got the “common” cold.

Imagine with me, suffering a cough, a nasal drip, and possibly fever, sitting in a 100 degree house (no, not sauna, that would be nice and open my airwaves).  Just stifling heat.  To survive that heat, I lay on a straw mat under a fan in my wood house, but the fan constantly dries out my throat and makes me cough and the blows around the sweat on my body that has accumalated because of either a fever or the 100 degree temperature outside.  And I can just never be sure.

I decided that environment was not conducive to healing…or happiness.  I determined that mainly because I was crabby and exhausted….and crabby.  So, right now, I am sitting in the office underneath the air conditioner in my sweats, with a vest on and an afghan wrapped around me with a cup of tea.  For a white girl in Cambodia who is already an anomale to these Cambodians, I have increased their number of questions regarding my sanity.  In the last 20 minutes, my friend, Sophorn, has come in twice to ask me if I would like him to turn off the air conditioner.  To which, I replied, “No thanks.  I’m fine.”  To which he replied (confused),”But you’re cold…”  To which I replied… I don’t remember, but I’m sure whatever I said it really didn’t make sense.  And just now, as I typed that last sentence, our friend, Tong, walked in and said, “What you doing?,” laughed, waved his hand at me as if to say (I will never understand the whole lot of you foreigners..), and walked away before I could even attempt to rationalize my behavior.  That’s probably best.

At times like these, I’ve decided rationalization is overrated.  When you get a cold in Cambodia, and I mean an intolerable, is that sweat from fever or Cambodian weather?, why is my hair wet again and my throat dry? cold, don’t rationalize it.  Sit under that air con with your tea and afghan.  Maybe even grab  a book and pull up a wintery scene on your screen saver.  Your body will understand.  And that’s all that matters.

Alouette a pretty polly geila Macarena, hey Macarena! March 27, 2009

What?  You mean my Spanish is wrong? 

The Macarena. The amazing dance from the 90s that we all are too fly to admit we love.  I am currently downloading it from emusic (which has all of obscure music I listen to, but nothing normal. For example, I couldn’t find the original Macarena by Los del whatever, so I am downloading a version off of the quality dance CD “Playa Total.” )

Jennie referenced the lovely Khmer weddings we have attended in our very, very pink and sparkly frocks.  We even danced in those bad boys.  Not the most comfortable dancing experience, but amazing.  In fact, we have danced a lot since coming to this country.  Cambodians are great, funny, happy, and most importantly unashamed dancers, all without the use of alcohol! 

Because of this dance enthusiasm, we added a new element to the staff self-care program.  Yesterday, we began our weekly dance time for the staff.  5 or 6 staff came and we danced.  And we laughed…yes, we laughed. 

I remember when I was little, I went over to Erin’s house. (For those of you that know me a little, you will have heard this name mentioned before.  Erin was my best friend growing up.  I and my 2 sisters spent our entire summers with her and her 3 sisters.  Lots of girls.  Lots and lots of stories–Did I mention the snake… or crab apple wine?– But, this blog is supposed to be about Cambodia…)  Anyway, I walked into the basement to find Erin laughing (still not about Cambodia… I’ll get there maybe eventually.)  I asked her what was so funny, and she said “Nothing. Laughing is just really good for your abs.”  The weird thing was, she was absolutely, convincingly happy. The fake laughing turned into real laughter and before we knew it we were all laughing hysterically not even caring that there was no real cause for it other than ab exercise.  Take that $300 ab roller!  (Oh there are so many more stories I could tell about this girl…Another day, another blog.) Since that fateful day in her basement, Erin and I have never been the same.  We understood for the first time that laughter truly is the “best medicine.”  Sorry, Reader’s Digest, you don’t count.  Your stories aren’t even true!

Back to Cambodia…

This post is entirely outdated.  You see, I started it 2 months ago when we began the staff dance days.  Since then, not only have the staff danced the macarena.  They have perfected it…even the hip swivel.  (not an easy thing for people that dance almost entirely with their hands!)  And we have laughed… a lot.  Especially at Pov.  I wish I could describe his macarena magnificence.  Let’s just say, he manages to smoothly, gently, and delicately perform every move in perfect time, jump 6 inches in the air, while maintaining an entirely serious, business-like face in the presence of constant, constant laughter.  Trust me, he laughs a lot during polka, the chicken dance, the various line dances (By the way, Megan Oster, if you are reading this, we totally did a line dance to John Anderson’s “Somebody Slap Me” in honor of you.), but the Macarena, now that’s business, people!

If you haven’t tried the Macarena in the last 10 years, you should give it a whirl.  I can almost guarantee that it will all come back (just in case it doesn’t, you start with the right hand, palm down…).  Grab your kids, your friends, your neighbors, your dog, your garbage man, the moto-dope driver down the street, the man selling crickets, the scale-lady on the street  (Wait, do you guys have those, too?)  I can almost guarantee it will make you laugh.  And, as we’ve already loosely confirmed, laughter is the best medicine.

So, it is for your health and well-being that I am giving the following command:  dance, Dance, DANCE the Macarena!”

Tie the knot (around the pole of the tent in the middle of the street) March 23, 2009

Weddings.   Awww weddings. 

Cambodian weddings.  AAAHHHHH!!!! weddings.

Yes, after watching my sister get married and learning about the planning, I never thought that any other culture could make a bigger deal out of one day than our lovely American culture.  Again, I was wrong.  Way wrong.

First of all, before they even plan the weddings, Cambodians plan a formal engagement celebration.  I did not understand this at all before yesterday, so let me enlighten you with my experience.  Maybe you would like to adopt this in your culture. he he.

Our friend (of a friend) invited Jennie and I to his engagement ceremony.  We had no idea what to expect, but again, we had such American expectations anyway.  Let me explain.

Our friend said that he would pick us up at 8 am. It would start at 8:30, and it would last an hour.  Jennie and I, both wanting to make the most out of our Sunday, were like “Sweet!  We’ll be home by 10!” 

Ha ha.

In actuality, our friend called us at 7:35 (before my shower… trust me, we all suffered), and picked us up at 7:43.  The ceremony started at 9:45 am.  And it lasted 2 hours. We made it home after lunch, which we ended up eating at the ceremony itself. 

So, you’re wondering, if you left early, how did it start late?  My answer:  because it’s Cambodia.  I cannot actually explain how extra time for preparation delays processes, but in my experience, it is always that way here.  So what did we do with the 2 hours while we waited for it to start?  Good question.  We darlanged.  (If you haven’t read Jennie’s blog, you should. She already explained this word.  It means hang out.  Since, the english version (hang out) is weird to make plural–is it hanged out or hung out or hang outed?–we need to adopt this Khmer word).  We sat around under a tent.  Me, Jennie, our new friend, Fi (an American who looks Khmer) watched our Khmer friends sing karaoke.  (When it comes to karaoke, Asians take it seriously.  They will have a pimped out speaker system, complete with microphones–only in the echo setting, Karaoke DVDs, and an amazingly clear and beautiful TV.  This all takes priority over a flush toilet.  And I definitely see why.) 

We also watched the bride’s brother-in-law get peed on twice by his own child.  That was pretty great.  I think it was his kid, not sure.  Let’s just say, Cambodians don’t do diapers.  Typically, they don’t do clothes even for kids below the age of 4 (and sometimes older…).  People kept throwing kids at Fi cause they thought he was Khmer.  In fact, sometimes I forgot he was American as he was holding these naked Cambodian children.  He didn’t get peed on.  He was lucky.

So, the actual ceremony involved plates and plates of fruit.  A mat.  A bridal party of sorts.  Bargaining over the dowry (not a khmer word).  A microphone with static and feedback and of course on the echo setting.  A sermon.  And an exchanging of the rings.  Was it a wedding?  No.  But both people got rings on their left ring fingers?  Doesn’t matter.  They’re engaged.  It’s Cambodia.

So, afterwards we ate.  We drank coke. And we sweated it out.  Except for me.  I didn’t want to drink cause I didn’t want to pee cause I didn’t want to use whatever “bathroom facilities” were available.  So I just heated up. Think I may have had sunstroke.  Been watching House lately.  Let’s just say, if I puke blood, I’ll be concerned.  :0)

OK, moving on to the actual wedding.  Yes, we didn’t experience this yesterday.  But we’ve been to two already.  Two day-long events involving 4 changes of fancy shmancy dresses, and not just for the bride, but the entire bridal party.  Yes, even the men.  As far as I can tell, the day starts off with a 7 course meal.  Don’t really know if anything happens before that.  If so, Cambodians don’t go. They just go for the food.  Not even kidding.

So, we go under the tent.  I’ve yet to attend weddings in the street, though I bike through them on a daily basis.  Yes, Cambodians put up a tent in the middle of the street, in front of their (and their neighbors’) house.  Who cares if it’s in your way?  Mun ay tee… just bike through it. 

So, we go under the tent  (sorry, lost my train of thought), and are greeted by the fancy bridal party.  Depending on the time you get there, they may have already changed to their 3rd outfit.  The eating is like the main part of the day.  Seriously, it’s probably like 3 hours or something. 

Then, there’s a break while people clean up the chairs and food.  So, we take some pictures.  Darlang with the cows (yeah, Wisconsinites.  You should have your weddings on a farm!  Don’t believe for one minute that cows here mean farms though…) then clean up our shoes. 

After that, there’s the cake.  The cake is a huge deal.  It’s a huge cake.  The MC’s introduce the couple and they parade around the cake to some very dramatic music.  Once, I could have sworn the keyboardist played Hotel California.  Then, they cut the cake with a sword!!!  and feed it to their parents.  Nicely. The whole time the photographer is dictating the entire thing, and completely void of kindness and concern for the bride’s feelings.  Definitely didn’t go to wedding photography school.   Then, after they put away their swords, they attempt their first public kiss after a countdown by the MC’s.  It’s pretty amazing.  Quite the pressure.  Like “Kiss on 3!”  Then, the MCs apparently have comments.  I can’t understand their Khmer, but their tone seems to say “C’mon!  You can kiss her better than that!  Do it again.” Before I know it, they start the countdown again. 

Then there’s some Khmer dancing, and then people wake up and do the eating and dancing and everything again.  In this kind of heat, I can’t imagine how weddings “evolved” this way.  I mean, this has must really make the “survival of the fittest” even more intense.  Only Cambodians who can withstand the crazy weddings will reproduce…resulting in the finest Cambodian wedding survival genes.

Oh, the circle of life.

(Speaking of the circle of life, Jennie is getting married. No, she didn’t get married here, even though she and Mick came back from the market with wedding bands on their left hands…We might just plan it in the street cause the hotels are a bit expensive.  How ’bout Hwy 53?)

My boss got his retention plan, and all I got was this t-shirt March 11, 2009

(Before you continue reading about my understanding of retention plans, I have to apologize for the delay in this post.  I wrote this two weeks ago and thought I posted it, but I didn’t… whoops.)

I know nothing about retention plans, and much else regarding the meaning of that sentence.  I am assuming that the thirteen year-old Khmer girl who wore this on her tiny-tee/flirty shirt knew exactly what it meant.

So, I happened to see that witty t-shirt in Sihanoukville, Cambodia, aka, I went to the ocean. (Yes, for those of you who match my geography skills, Cambodia has an ocean… or at least “Gulf of Thailand” access on the south border.)   Jennie and I and a group of our friends from the US went down there to catch some rays (ha ha… like we needed to leave Phnom Penh for that!) and waves and stingrays and jelly fish.  It was amazing.  The beach was beautiful, aside from the random floating blue plastic bags that I always thought were jellyfish… And the speedos.

Ah, the speedos.  The zits on the beautiful face of the beach.  The bruise on the spotless apple.  The fly in your coffee…. The style of clothing that would make even Joe Mauer look less than the man (amazing and wonderful man) he is.  Not to mention that Cambodians themselves find them distasteful and completely inappropriate.  

For example: Jennie and I were hanging with our random underage fruit seller friend (a beautiful 12 year old named Somnang), as she pointed out all the bikinis and speedos–worn mostly by large foreigners, not skinny little Cambodians (already bikinis and speedos lose logic)–and she said “Ot la-aw.”  Translation: “Not good.”  To which I replied ” Men Howie!”  Loosely translated:  “Right on, sister.”  Not to mention that almost every tour guide book says “Please do not wear bikinis or speedos, as Cambodians are a modest people.  Please, when not on the beach, where a t-shirt.”  I am thinking of writing my own guidebook to the world, which will include this concise thought. “Never, ever, ever wear or consider wearing a speedo in public.  Trust me.  You will not look as good as you think you do.  If you need a full-body tan, find a tanning booth.”

As we pretended not to see more than we wanted to see, we enjoyed a meal of grilled fish on the shore.  I got the best thing on the menu–yes, the barracuda.  I was disappointed only in the presentation.  As my father says, “Presentation is everything.”  (Yeah, you wouldn’t expect MY dad to say that, would you?  Oh, but he does!) Let me explain.  Jennie and Karen each got the Red Snapper delivered to them whole.  That’s right. Gills, fins, scales, eye-balls, and all on a plate.  (Yes, mom, it was cooked!)  They got theirs first, and I immediately pictured being escorted to my own private table which contained a 7 foot long barracuda with fangs and spiny scales and glow in the dark eyes and me choosing not to share this science dissection experiment with anyone.  In the end, it was just a finless, scaleless fillet, taking up 1/4 of the plate.  And, against my better judgment, I did share….with everyone.

Somehow that night, I ended up talking about working on the dementia unit in NY.  This made me realize that I probably have a lot to learn about group conversation and topic flow.  My guess is we were not talking about nursing homes…  as I shouldn’t be now… Excuse me, I digress. Often.

So, that night I had a headache.  Some lessons I just refuse to learn.  If I spend all day in sun and water (particularly salty water), I will get a headache.  But, a headache is a small price to pay for a full day in the sun and surf… so worth it.

But, I woke up the next morning to a breakfast that would cure anyone–chocolate and banana crepes. That, and a strong coffee, and I was good to go.  To go where, you might ask?  To go snorkeling!

Jennie and I took an hour long boat ride to Bamboo Island…(*cough* sketchy! what?)  As we get to the island, we realize that everyone else there is staying overnight, including the boat.   I pushed all thoughts resembling TV Shows like “Survivor (which I have never seen) and “Gilligan’s Island” to the back of my head, as I surveyed the area I considered might have to be my home for the rest of my life.  I saw wood, so I knew I could make a fort… or a smoke signal….

We were just about to succom to pure fear when our hero arrived.  We will call him “Random Khmer Man Who Doesn’t Speak English! (with enthusiasm please!)  He beckoned us to follow him along a windy path through the woods… or forests… or rainforests…. whatever it was.  He starts describing what I thought were landmines, but when I demonstrated the only way I knew how (stepping with one foot and mimicking an explosion), he shook his head.  Maybe he was talking about fireworks… Or nuclear warfare… We’ll never really know.  

So, anyway, we didn’t know where we were going, but we found ourselves on  the other side of the island.  And we saw 6 boats.  I figured we could rig one of those suckers up, even if we didn’t have a skipper.  Thankfully, we didn’t have to.  Apparently, we were supposed to hop on the blue boat (3 of them were blue).  While we waited to head to the snorkeling place, we passed the time finding shells, nursing (well, not literally) a sick dog, figuring out how to use our snorkeling masks, and avoiding the scary, alienish sea urchins.  Then, we hopped on the boat with other tourists, all couples, who were much more interested in impressing each other than snorkeling…lame.  We stopped at a coral reef with another boat full of Chinese (possibly) tourists.  All I have to say is, those people are hilarious.  I didn’t understand a word they said…or really what they were doing.  But they sure make amazing human pyramids on the coral reefs!  Never would have crossed my mind to do that…

That night, Jennie and I went to a restaurant called “Holy Cow.”  That’s right.  Holy Cow.

This is the most boring blog post ever cause I guess mostly everything went right this weekend.  God is so good to us.

Oh yeah, the ac on the bus broke on our way home today.  I almost cried.

A Little Belated… but Love WAS in the Air! February 23, 2009

So, last weekend was Valentine’s Day.  I’m sure I didn’t have to tell you that. If you’ve completely forgotten about it and missed the holiday, consider yourself lucky!  And that also might explain your special someone’s not-so-joyful mood…

Anyway, I got my grandma’s box of chocolate (coffee this year!) and other random goodness just in time for the holiday.  I wasn’t quite sure how else I was going to celebrate this Westernized holiday of pagan origin.  Then, my friend Sophorn said, “Wanna bike with me and my friends to the zoo?”

Now, Sophorn has suggested crazy adventures, which is surprising once you get to know him.  He’s usually a laid back, go-with-the-flow kind of guy.  But, when it comes to bike trips, apparently, he’s a little energetic… or more accurately,  a glutton for punishment.  He also asked Jennie and I to bike to Siem Reap.  Siem Reap!!!  That’s almost 200 miles away!  That’s like calling my friends in Madison (used to be Amy) from Eau Claire and saying (for those of you in NY, think 50 miles more than biking from Albany to ”the City”) , “Hey, so I wanna come visit for the weekend…. Think I’ll bike. See you in two days?”  Yeah, 3.5 days for me.  2 days for Sophorn.  Afterall, he is Khmer.

So, in response to his question, both Jennie and I said, “yes!,” not realizing we were imagining a half hour bike trip to a zoo resembling the Minnesota Zoo (in my mind, the Milwaukee in Jennie’s… MN’s zoo is awesome, yeah for Dolphins and poop on alligators!!!)  Well, of course, as with all of our expectations in the last 4 months (yeah two months left–that’s a new topic), we were absolutely wrong.

Before I forget, as Jennie and I were dreaming about our zoo trip, I joked about the types of exotic animals from North America that we might see… like squirrels.  We laughed about that for a while, like this, ha ha heh. 

So, anyway, we biked the first 40-45 Km.  (If you could be so kind as to please do your own conversions to miles.  I have a limited time to do this… :0)  It wasn’t bad at all.  I was feeling good.  I was mostly feeling like I could be done for the day and felt like I had worked hard.  Up to this point, we biked mostly on paved roads, an occasional path at the beginning.  Not up hill, pretty flat.  So, we get to the zoo entrance, and Sophorn says, “All right.  We’re there.  Now we just need to bike 5 km to the zoo.”  I thought, heck, 5 km, no problem!  Then someone says, “Yeah, and by the way, it’s up hill.”  I felt a bit concerned, as I remembered 5 k being about 3 miles.  Then I saw the hill.  Yes, not only was it somewhat steep.  It was sand.  We suffered.  We hallucinated.  And we never found the oasis.

So, here’s my favorite part.  And yes, pictures will be coming soon. We did eventually get to the zoo where the animals were waiting to put on a show.  Apparently, they knew it was Valentine’s Day.

We hung out first by the monkeys, who were crazy and seemingly uncaged.  They easily jumped the fences and tried to steal our food.  Mean little boogers.

Then, we saw some random caged animals…. (among them, yes, 3 varieties of exotic N. American squirrels… ha ha, no joke!).  The ones I remember most were the mongoose, wait, muskrats, wait, I don’t remember exactly what they were, but I remember what they were doing.  I stepped away from the cage and averted my eyes to give them privacy, and Jennie whips out her camera!  She was like the dang paparazzi!  I think she was blackmailing one of the little rodents, who apparently had a mistress.  Jennie claims she thought they were mom and child, but I think that’s a stretch… Yikes.

So, we move on, pet reindeer, see beautiful cranes–their nests right above our heads…Yes, we saw a crocodile or two or 6 behind a cage.  They were all sleeping with their mouths open.  I was comforted by the fact that I did not see them move.  In fact, sleeping with mouths open is bizarre, so I had a hard time believing that they weren’t plastic.  That certainly helped my nerves.

We saw some more awesome animals, and then laid in hammocks for lunch.  It was lovely.  Yes, I packed a sandwich. Or, Jennie did–thanks, friend!  Oh, and we gave everyone chocolate kisses that morning (thanks grandma!).  We tried to explain the whole chocolates called kisses and giving those instead of real kisses, but I think the Khmer people just wished we wouldn’t talk about it so they could eat their chocolate without a hint of guilt or confusion.

Next, we saw the elephants.  Now, I had never thought about the logistics of elephant reproduction before. Those elephants are huge, and not particularly nimble and flexible.  So, yeah, I’m not going to describe it, but we saw it.  Love was in the air.  If you have any questions, I’m pretty sure the paparazzi (aka Jennie) documented the whole thing!

So, we biked back before dark, which was good.  The rest I don’t remember because my rear end was so sore.  I was a very un-happy camper, to say the least.  I wasn’t mean to anyone, but I’m sure they recognized my irritability.

When I got home, my friend Sophorn sent me this text: “You’ve made it, good job.  Have a good rest tonight, God bless you!”

What wonderful people!

Minnesota’s State Bird February 5, 2009

The loon… I know, but everyone says it’s the mosquito. Can I just say that I will never complain about the mosquitos in Minnesota or Wisconsin again?  We may be tough as nails when it comes to sub-zero temperatures, but in all honesty, we are complete pansies when it comes to those winged, itch-producing insects.

To put things in perspective, I’ve been keeping a record of how many mosquitos I have killed over the last few weeks.  In the past 5 days (including today which is only half over), I have killed 46 mosquitos.  Which means, there are millions that I didn’t even touch.  People here sleep under mosquito nets so that they don’t get eaten alive!  I just put mine up this weekend (it’s blue) and I feel like a princess (kinda looks like one of those royal canopy beds that I always wanted…).

Khmer people also invest 3 dollars into what looks like a tennis racket, which if it were, is an awesome deal.  But, it’s so much more.  It fools mosquitos into thinking it’s just a tennis racket, and then BAM! it sends volts of electricity into their little nasty sucky things right out their disease ridden (except in Phnom Penh) feet!  Yes, my friends, it’s an electrocuting racket.  Is it dangerous?  I’m not sure.  Hard to tell in this country when safety seems to come last. (I have definitely seen men working on some electrical or cable lines prop their ladders up against the lines. Yeah, not even the poles, the lines themselves.  Apparently, the NSP–northern state power–company didn’t come to their school and electrocute barbie dolls.  Kinda makes an impression on a 3rd grader. I’ve never recovered.  In fact, I have saved Jennie’s life with this information, as she has a thing for sticking objects into toasters.  Don’t worry, Judy, I’m keeping an eye on her!)  Jennie and I have decided that the electric chair, or in this case the electric tennis racket, is a death warranted by the horribly cruel and not to mention, small and defenseless, mosquitos. 

Hey, mom, we’re out of bug spray…

You decide… January 28, 2009

Last night, Jennie and I were faced with a significant dilemma.  You see, we had just begun our wonderful supper of red curry on the floor on our mat with our Bibles attempting to read Ephesians when we had an unexpected visitor.  Jennie saw him first and cheerfully greeted him by saying, “Oh hello!”  So, I turned to look, half expecting a cat or a rat, and I saw a cockroach.  As soon as I saw him he ran to the wall, and we determined that this was not any cockroach, it was a cockroach on speed.  Then we saw him attempt to fly.  So what were we going to do with this flying cockroach on speed?

I thought I’d try to throw a cup over it (and then a plate under it) and let it outside.  That tactic has successfully worked for both Jennie and I in the past.  Unfortunately, aided by extra amphetamines, he charged out from beneath the cup before I got it over him.  That’s when Jennie starts at him with a large thermos full of our drinking water.  Yes, she was going to smash him.

Imagine with me first (and most importantly) the logistics of that move.  You take our drinking water bottle and get a huge amount of cockroach–he’s like 3″ by1.5″– guts on it (which might even smell) that you have to clean up and then drink out of that same bottle?   Secondly, the inhumanity.  Seriously.  That cockroach didn’t try to hurt us at all.

Thankfully, by the grace of God, the cockroach flew out the door while Jennie was chasing it with the water bottle. 

So, you decide…. If a giant, flying cockroach on speed was in your house, what would you do?

PS: Our landlords heard us (ok, me) shrieking last night, and their young son offered to come up and kill it for us.  We are in good hands!

The Early Bird Gets Mambo #5 January 24, 2009

So, it has been a while since I’ve posted anything on here.  I haven’t had much inspiration.  It’s not that people no longer pee on the street, sell fried cockroaches, or carry IV poles on motos, it’s just that it has all become normal to me.  Yes, in 3 months, I will come home and say, “Why is everyone waiting at that red light when no one is coming?”  I have to say, I’m thinking about budgeting (wait, I’m not making money…) for traffic violations. 

But something out of the ordinary happened this morning.  First of all, Jennie got up before 6 am.  That was miraculous–I even took a picture of the clock to prove it.  If you don’t believe me, I’ll send it to you.

Secondly, we decided to go down to the Olympic Stadium.  Yes, the Olympic Stadium… no, I don’t think Phnom Penh ever hosted the Olympics…I’m still trying to figure that one out.  Regardless, it’s a pretty happening place–especially from 5-7am.  Every day.

Imagine with me, if you will, a large outdoor stadium on a hill…similar to a football stadium (or maybe an Olympic stadium, though I confess this is the only one I have ever seen).  From the bottom of the stadium (I could see it after the sun rose), there are little, tiny people on top of the stadium throwing their arms up in the air and moving their legs in sync.  (Possibly even to music by N’Sync–there you go, Kevin, that’s the best pun I could scrounge up.)  It’s quite remarkable.  Not the size of the people.  They really aren’t that little, though I still often feel gargantuan at my height–a whopping 5’5″ or so.  It’s more of the quantity of the people–gotta be hundreds of them moving together in possibly groups of 20-40 all around the top of the stadium.  What are these groups doing exactly?  From a distance, it’s hard to tell.  Once you get closer, you can see they are doing aerobics–or aerobic dance.

Each group has their own music and own style of aerobic dance.  You have the Khmer traditional dance–quite a work-out for the hands I must say.  Then you have the Paula Abdul type, one kind resembling “the Grind” (I hope I’m not the only one who knows that…)and even in the past, we have seen a Footloose (you know, from the movie?) aerobics.  We were sad that we couldn’t find it this morning.

So, Jennie went up to do aerobics for awhile after we arrived, and I ran around the outside with the men.  Don’t get me wrong, there were definitely Cambodian men doing aerobics.  They are quite secure in their masculinity.  In fact, most of the aerobic leaders were men.  Try that one on for size, midwestern males!!!

After running a few laps around the complex, I went to join Jennie.  They finished the strictly aerobics part and at maybe 6:15 or so moved on to the dancing part.  That’s when I got there.  They lured us into thinking we would learn some terrific Khmer dances, which we did.  Jennie and I have each gotten a little more secure in our Khmer dancing.  We know we still look ridiculous, but I guess we are no longer worried about that.  Anyways, shortly after we started dancing Khmer, we switched aerobic leaders.

I knew something was up when the first song the new aerobic leader led was in English.  I thought huh, I can understand what they’re saying.  Are we changing dances?  The answer is yes.

Then it happened.  Mambo # 5.  10 hours later it is still in my head.  It’s amazing how that song probably came out over 10 years ago, and I still know all of the words.  Though I knew all the words, I have never before learned how to dance  to it.  I’m so glad I did.  Please remind me to show you when I return home.  To prepare yourself for these new dance moves, raise your hands in the air and shake your butt like you just don’t care.

So yes, in this case, we early birds did not get any worms.  I’m not even sure if they were for sale yet.  But we did get Mambo #5.