Hair Salon, Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Back in Cambodian and running a hairdressing salon and training school. Six months of saving all my pennies in Australia and back to Phnom Penh where I've set up one of the few western hairdressing salons. I'll be offering all the services you'd expect from back home, with a speciality in foiled hilights and the comfort of nice surroundings and great service! 70% of all proceeds from the salon will go directly towards the Chocolate Blonde Training school. The training school will be established later this year and will train disadvantage Cambodians in the fundamentals of hairdressing. Come and check us out at: Chocolate Blonde Cambodia Salon #18, Street 242 Between streets 51 and 57 and two blocks from SOS Medical Centre. Ph. 077995160

Cambodia - Lovin it/Not lovin it, Christmas photos

I ♥ Cambodia / I not ♥ Cambodia Share Now the time to leave is drawing near, I've been thinking about what I've liked and disliked about being here - thought I'd share it. I'm sure those of you living here or that have lived here in thepast could add some of your own gems. . . . . Likes • The open and honest smiles on (almost) everybody’s face • Cheap fruit shakes • The gorgeously adorable children • The easy going way someone will help out, just because they can see help is needed with no thought about what might be in it for them • Bespoke shoes for around $18 • The traditional fabric • The fact you can buy a big satisfying lunch for $2 • The way they tell you without any qualms that you have gotten fat and with absolutely no trace of malice • Good, cheap dentistry • Cheap cocktails • Mr Jim, our nighttime Tuk tuk driver who always gets us home safe at any hour of night/morning, fending off would-be muggers and making sure we're locked in behind our gate before driving off • Ability to get good, cheap massages and facials whenever you fancy it • That there are pubs where you can dance without having to pay a cover charge • The fact that there’s a dude with a compressor on every street corner to fix your flat tire and only charge you only 25c • The fact everyone feels comfortable enough to share updates on their bowel movements • Monk blessings • Knowing that if you smile at a stranger you will also get a big beaming smile in return • The general warmth of the people • The cheap tailors • The hearty laughter even when it’s not that funny and especially when its laughter at your own joke • Being told you speak very good Khmer when you’ve only said “hallo” • Being told you look beautiful and not because they want to have sex with you Dislikes • Poo Street (open sewer that runs the length of a street right across one end of Phnom Penh) • Obnoxious 4x4 drivers • Lack of the concept of traffic lanes • The machete welding angry people • The way that every Tuk Tuk driver in a street lined with them asks you if you want a Tuk Tuk, even though you’ve just walked past 20 of them saying no. Or you’re on your bicycle and they want to know if you want a Tuk Tuk?? • Chaffing and bra rash • Beer is served warm with ice • Spitting and peeing on the street • Your workmates peeing with the door open • Constantly having loose bowel movements • The fact that every meeting you attend is so disorganized that you waste half of your time waiting for it to start and the other half waiting for people to do work that should have been done before or after the meeting. • Being laughed at your feeble attempts to speak Khmer • Being stared at when you eat • Never ever getting everybody’s meals at the same time • Tuk tuk drivers always saying “yes” when asked if they know where somewhere is – even though they don’t • Corruption

Accidents, hairdressing and plans for home

Thirty days – that is all that is left of my adventure in Cambodia, this time around anyway. Cambodia has thrown me some curve balls in my time here. Some in the form of interesting “firsts” including three episodes of fainting, one trip to hospital, a motorbike accident, consumption of a cricket and having an IV drip put in my arm only for it to end up giving me a blood clot. And yet, something has taken hold of me and doesn’t seem to want to let go. The voice in my head is telling me it’s not time to leave, but on the other hand I'm looking forward to living in the house I bought before I left, catching up on missed time with my dear friends and riding my beautiful Pinrello again! During the Water Festival, at the start of November, myself and a friend Mara, decided to hire a motorbike to get ourselves to Kampong Speu Province and up Kirirom Mountain. It being green, quiet, a few degrees cooler than Phnom Penh, scenically stunning (or so we’d been told) and resident to a resort and swimming pool. The resort turned out to be disappointing, the service terrible, the food mediocre but the pool was lovely and refreshing. I ended up demonstrating to the wait staff how to make a vodka and pineapple having asked for three different cocktails on their list and being told each time “no have”. Unfortunately the resort was the only part of Kirirom that we got to see on that trip. We came off the motorbike early the next morning halfway up the mountain. A Khmer guy was luckily standing in the vicinity and promptly lifted the bike off us and then us off the road. He then kindly (??) rubbed tiger balm into my open wounds! Thank gaud for the numbing effects of shock as it really didn’t hurt as much as tiger balm on an open wound ought to and somehow it actually ended up making the pain fade. I lay on the side of the road for awhile until an authority from the mountain came and organized to have us and the motorbike moved to the nearest Khmer-style picnic area. In the meantime numerous cars and motos stopped and not all of them just for a gawk, no, some of the real sweeties came with offerings in their hand – you guessed it, more tiger balm! Not only was it rubbed in my wounds, it was rubbed on my forehead and temples, around my nose – I think they would have put me in a bath of it if they could have – so sweet. Not so sweet was the guy who drove us the two minutes to the picnic area and then tried to charge us $10 for his effort. The Mountain official organized a mini van from a nearby village to come and pick us and the motorbike up off the mountain and return us to Phnom Penh. While we waited a monk who had visited us at the crash site had rung his godfather (a doctor) to come and check us over. He spoke no English but was happy to mop up the wounds and administer three injections to me, one in each arm and one in my butt. Luckily I don’t have an issue with needles, the young Khmer boys watching the proceedings however, ran off squealing when the first shot went in. Mara wasn’t far behind them! It was an unusual and quite unorthodox scene as two Khmer men firstly rolled me on my side, pulled down my shorts and knickers enough to expose butt cheek then proceed to pull everything back into place a bit too enthusiastically so that a wedgey ensued post the shot. Mara thankfully made a note of the drugs being used and we confirmed later at the hospital that they were only pain killers. The mini van trip back to Phnom Penh took three hours, our driver seeing an opportunity to make some extra cash by scouting for additional passengers at each town we went through. We soon put our “cranky-we’ve-just-had-an-accident-we-need-to-get-to-hospital-we’ve-already-paid-you-10-times-over-the-going-rate” hat on. The trip went with speed after that until we hit a road block (literally!) on the outskirts of Phnom Penh. The Phnom Penh City Council in all its wisdom had set roadblocks up all over the city to stop people entering for the Water Festival. (Thousands come from villages all over Cambodia, more than doubling Phnom Penh’s population and generally creating gridlock, mayhem and an amazing carnival atmosphere. The officials manning the roadblock refused us entry and suggested we get a moto into town from there?? Mara knew another road to get into town so we directed the driver on that route only to get stopped once again. This time I leapt out of the van and approached the guards with all wounds exposed and pointing at my broken and gouged elbow saying I live in Phnom Penh and need to get to hospital. The highest ranking guard (I presume by the amount of pips on his uniform) nodded his assent and we proceeded through only to be stopped down the road by another roadblock. By this time both of us had become completely frayed around the edges but thankfully a Khmer speaking friend with a car had answered my desperate call for help. The relief was immense, having someone come and take control. The motorbike was bundled into a Tuk Tuk and we were whisked off to the nearest hospital. The hospital turned out to be very swish, a pleasant surprise and they looked after us brilliantly. That was nearly a month ago now, all our wounds have healed and I only have 9 more days in my cast! It is 34 years since I was last in one and I had really forgotten how restrictive it all is although Mum and Dad were there to be at my beck and call then and I wasn’t living in constant 30+ degree heat! Mara arranged for one of the students from her University to come and help me with housework and bagging up for showers etc. And as always my friends have been awesome, taking turns at redressing my wounds, getting groceries in, cooking me meals and taking the “invalid” out. It’s all just added to my Cambodia experience. What else? While I was waiting for my new assignment to be sorted and confirmed I started hairdressing training with some Khmer girls who work in the salon of a friend of a friend. Its 14 years since I’ve been a hairdresser but like riding a bike you don’t forget. I thoroughly enjoyed my two mornings a week focusing on cutting techniques and customer care. The girls were such a joy to teach, readily soaking it all up. They took notes and put into practice straight away whatever new skill I taught. It’s definitely a barrier teaching students who don’t speak the same language as you but I had a lovely translator and it’s amazing how much you can transfer through gestures, sound effects and signs. I also confirmed in recent months that I would never make a nurse. I went on a visit to the dump to assist a friend that provides medical attention to the families living there. The first task he assigned me was cleaning up the arm of a man with a wound resulting from a machete attack. I squatted on the ground while he sat in a chair and tried my best to clean the wound of congealed blood and dirt. On standing up to get more cotton wool I started to see stars and didn’t feel so good. I told my friend I was feeling sick as I made my way back to my patient but came too a few seconds later sitting in the dirt! Apart from feeling extremely sick and very spaced out, I was mortally embarrassed as all the Khmer women and children waiting for medical attention giggled away merrily. I got brave after a bottle of water and half an hour more of sitting in the dirt and started handing up plasters to the “real” volunteers, the ones not fainting. It’s taken me almost 10 months to see my first road accident in Cambodia (actually my first ever and I would much rather have never had the experience) I was riding my bike near my home when a truck pulled out of a side street, I swerved behind the truck to avoid it but a couple (without helmets) on a motorbike decided to try and go around in front. The truck hit them and knocked them to the ground but instead of stopping the truck seemed to be still moving as the drivers legs disappeared beneath it. The woman passengers head hit the ground and bounced as the sound of metal ripping filled the air. For a second my instinct was to stop and help but then reason and my experience at the dump made me keep riding. I felt sick and guilty and with no idea what to do. Amazingly an ambulance was parked a little further down the road in preparation for some of the other calamity’s that make up Water Festival. There were lots of Khmers standing around with Red Cross shirts on and I kept asking if they spoke English until one of them did. He was calmness personified as I tried to be the same, explaining the situation while in my brain I was screaming at him to stop smiling, stop asking stupid questions and just frigging move his arse! From experience, to freak out or to show too much emotion would not have had a positive effect on this man. So I calmly answered his questions while trying to convey that haste was required. I took my queue to leave when he stopped asking questions, thanked me and wished me good luck. I’ll never know if he actually went to their aid or if they survived. Having discussed the accident with others since, the unanimous school of thought is never, ever stop at a road accident as chances are you’ll be blamed and/or expected to pay all damages. I find this really sad and hope that some Westerner, some day, that’s braver than me will stop and hopefully save someone’s life without negative repercussions. Being of only one arm and not being able to put my hair up I decided to visit my local market for a hair wash and braiding. It was quite an experience which involves shampoo being applied to dry hair while sitting in the chair. Water is then squirted from a bottle onto the hair to emulsify. The shampooing goes on for about 10 minutes with lots of scalp scrapping before you are moved to the basin. You’re rinsed here and there’s lots more massaging and applying of conditioner. Next is the complete wetting of the face and application of cleanser while still laying at the basin. This is followed by the dry folded towel being placed across the eyes with cold water poured on top. This is a bit shocking to the system when you’re not prepared for it but is actually really refreshing. You are taken back to your chair then and receive a 5 minute neck and shoulder massage. I also asked for a pedicure and all up it cost me $2.50! I started with a new NGO in early October much to my delight. Once again they’re lovely people but once again there’s very little work to do. What work there is, I get done in half the time they’ve allowed – estimations are based on Khmer not Western time. Our purpose is always to build capacity but as so often happens they are more than happy for us to do the work rather than teach them how to do it. The research work I have done to pull concept notes together has been really interesting. I’ve learnt about child and women exploitation, sex and labor trafficking, selling of children by parents etc. It’s pretty harrowing when I stop to think that this is modern day Cambodia I’m reading about and is not historical.

Cambodia Oct-Nov 2009 2

Electricians, changes and baguettes

Gosh, here it is August. That would mean its . . . . . way too long since I last wrote. I was up at 5.40 this morning throwing on some running gear ready to meet Kiao who gives me a lift to the Olympic Stadiumhis on his moto. There’s a group of about 5 or 6 of us who meet twice a week to run and do strength work. Its torturous fun as each person has a turn at running the session and mixing up the exercises. I don’t think we’re happy unless we're sore a day or two afterwards. The Cambodians, I’m sure, think we’re nuts as they stare at us amazed while we lay on the grass performing all sorts of weird postures and positions. They’ll catch on one day – they’re still busy doing 1980’s aerobics at the moment. I’ve got a fair amount of free time at the moment so it’s nice to get some exercise in to start the day. This is a public blog so I wont be specific but will say that the volunteer organization I work with, after some investigation, have deemed it unsuitable for myself and the other volunteer working with me to continue to do so with our current Host organisation. It all happened pretty suddenly, within a week of me getting back from leave. It was a hard week with most people saying that they were sad that we were leaving and while everyone knew the real reason we were leaving but no one was talking about it. I miss the majority of the staff, they’re lovely people and it's unfair that they don’t have the luxury of being able to walk out like we did. It makes me feel all sorts of guilt, once again the westerner has the power and the choices. I'm still helping some of the staff with editing of English and it makes me happy to still be able to help out even if it is in such a small way. I try not to think that my 7 months has been a waste of time when I came here with such high notions of blazing a trail for development and progress. I produced some work I am proud of and some Cambodians have gained new skills and knowledge as a result of my work so that’s not so bad. I’ve gained some friends both inside and outside of work, Cambodian and Western and hopefully we’ve all gained something out of the brief encounter in each others lives. So my time out at Toul Kork with the goats and the $2 lunches has ended along with my dare-devil 20 mins rides to and from work. I need the runs to replace those heart starters each morning. :o) My next steps are still a little unclear but with only 4 months left until I return to Australia there really isn’t enough time to start all over in another volunteer role of the same type. It takes 2 months at least to build the relationships and begin to do some kind of solid work. Instead my thoughts at the moment are to do some more hands-on type of volunteer work. Perhaps vocational training or work in an orphanage, when and where I can. A few anecdotes: Rent on my apartment was due last week so I headed off to the cashpoint and drew out the $300us to cover the next month then poped into my landlords who run the pharmacy at the bottom of our building. They hadn’t asked me for electricity in two months so I had checked the metre, worked out how much I owed them and took that money in to them as well. It was all smiles and “thank you’s” and I even got presented with a purple dragon fruit for my efforts. I suggested they might want to come up and check the metre but they said there was no need. That’s paying the rent in Cambodia – makes me think about how much human contact we’ve eradicated in our sophisticated electronic world. I’m not saying that in all cases it’s a bad thing – I’m sure there’s landlords you’d rather not meet. Getting back from a run last Friday morning I stood out on my balcony to try and cool down and watch what was happening in my neighbourhood (you have time to watch when you’re not rushing off to work). A truck dropped off some men, some ladders and a whole heap of cables and they proceeded to get to work, you see these are the phone/electricity men. Not a cherry picker in sight, these guys scramble up their ladders that lean precariously against the existing cables. They get leverage for themselves by standing on the existing cables to do what they need to do and if they need help the guy that’s supposed to be holding the ladder scurries up the ladder and lends a hand. One guy had the shoe lace of his imitation Allstars undone and I felt sick as I watched him running up and down the ladder. Finally, he realised himself that it was undone and much to my relief, did it up nice and tight. They ran new cable down my whole street by binding new cable to old with a basic piece of wire that they twisted them together with. I didn’t watch all day but I hoped they all left the job in one piece. When I leave for a run at 6am there is always a guy across my street selling baguettes. Some days, I come home from being out around say, 7 or 8pm and the same guy is always still sitting there selling his baguettes. Can you imagine sitting in the same spot with nothing to occupy your mind other than watching the street traffic ebb and flow, and the occasional distraction of a sale for 13/14 hours a day? I couldn’t. Maybe it’s an example of true contentment and peace right there! I’ve never even seen him reading a book but that’s typical of Cambodians. They don’t seem to read for pleasure, instead reading is for study. They much prefer to watch tv and the louder the better! Anyway, he’s a lovely cheerful fellow but unfortunately I don’t really like his baguettes and more often than not go to his competition about three shop fronts down. The traffic is still driving me crazy so much so that I lost all reason a few weeks ago and took on a 4x4 on my pushbike. I was waiting patiently for the lights to change to green so I could cycle sedately through, when a motorbike, and bus and then a 4x4 tried to turn into my street on a red light. I wasn’t game enough to take on the bus but pushed myself forward between the bus and the 4x4. The driver luckily enough wasn’t in the mood to run me down and when I gestured that I had the green light he gestured back something that said “well if the bus can do it so can I”. The logic is interesting. Anyway I left him sitting in the middle of the intersection while I led the charge of through traffic, onwards to victory and a great sense of satisfaction! Let us hope he wasn’t a mate of anyone important otherwise his cronies even now could be hunting the streets for a mad, blonde Barang on her iridescent white bike ready to let her tyres down, or alternatively pull out her fingernails one by one with a set of pliers whilst dowsing them in alcohol. I few weeks ago I was lucky enough to get leave and met up with my Mum and sister in Bangkok where we spent a few days mostly shopping before flying up to Chiang Mai for another few days. Its 12 years since I’ve been to Chiang Mai and it had a really lovely feel to it. Bit like a village but with the advantages of a decent sized town. We did all the touristy things, like Tiger Kingdom and the Elephant farm – they were both amazing. From there we flew to Saigon, which unfortunately I really didn’t like. Gone are all the smiles and friendliness of Thailand and Cambodia instead you receive blank stares at best and aggression at worst. I’ll caveat this by saying that last time I was in Saigon (three years ago) I didn’t feel the same. Has it changed or have I? Maybe I’ve just been spoilt by living in Cambodia. We travelled across the border back into Cambodia by bus two days later much to my relief and Mum and Jane got to spend a week of seeing what I’ve seen and sharing a little bit of my life in Cambodia. I’m looking forward to the rest of my time here and aim in my 4 remaining months to try and get to see all the beautiful parts of Cambodia that I haven’t gotten to yet. The volunteers from the intake before mine are all due to leave shortly and there should be a few nice weekends away in farewell to them.

Movin and Poopin. Photos of new apartment at bottom.

I’m writing this sitting in the airconditioned comfort of my bedroom having just finished that most amazing of all luxuries, a blow of cereal. It’s my first cereal in 5.5 months. I have a rash on my face so that my eyes are mere almonds peeking out of the puffiness. Just another chink in the armour of my resolve. I’ve been sick the last week, either a parasite or bacteria but either way everything going in was coming straight out. After three days of no let-up I gave in and went to see a doctor who admitted me straight away and put me on an IV drip for rehydration plus bottles full of antibiotics. Add to that an infection from the IV causing swelling and diminished range of movement in my right arm plus the humiliation of having to poop in a pot when they’ve just injected antibiotics into to you to stop you pooping. My resolve is being chinked all over the place. My friend, which happens to be the new owner of Scoopy, being the truly amazing person that she is, offered to be poop courier for me (when we finally got some action), and the truly hilarious thing, they charged her $21 for the pleasure of dropping it off to them. I’m feeling heaps better today, apart from a face like Godzilla and a still bung arm but I’m working from home to treat myself and adminsiter some tender loving care. I’ll be back to work tomorrow though and back to the lovely people who have been really worried about me. I first got sick at work and the “Mum’s” all gathered around, rubbing tiger balm on my tummy, massaged my back, made me drink tea with lemon and honey and scolded me for not telling them I was sick. They’re such caring people - I’ve had visits at home to drop of care packages, phone calls to check how I am and the offer of a lift in the middle of the night (if I needed it) from Sopheak the IT manager. My friends also have been so caring, generous and supportive for people I’ve only known for a matter of months but time doesn’t come into the bonds that you form. They’ve united to form “team tough love” and demand that I go to the doctor, they’ve delivered my poop and they’ve sat all afternoon watching episode after episode of “Brothers and Sisters” to keep me company. My armour of resolve has had a few chinks knocked out and is looking smoother. I’m so thankful that I am in my new home to be sick and lick my wounds. I think my resolve would have completely vanished if I’d had to endure being ill in the old apartment. I love this new place, its way smaller which translates to more homely. It has aircon and masses and masses of natural light, there’s no yapping blind dog driving me slowly deranged and no psychotic security mad, landlord. A market three doors down for all the essentials and the Independence Monument park at the end of my street on which I’d started running two nights before I got sick. It was a lovely "moving day" where East worked alongside West to transport Jacqui and her way too plentiful trappings two kilometres down the road. Mr Khun brought along Mrs Khun (a very tireless, strong and beautiful person) and his Camry, the heaviest tv in the world went in a Tuk-Tuk and pot plants travelled via motorbike and bicycle basket. A few things went missing, the tv got broke and Em pulled a glut muscle but we all finished up by having a lovely picnic on my new balcony. Mr Khun told us stories from the Pol Pot time, how him and Mrs Khum got together and Adam showed us his bruise from driving his motorbike home drunk last night and having it fall on him – ssshhh don’t tell the Embassy. I went to my first meditation session at a local Buddhist temple (Wat) a few weeks ago. I found it “enlightening”. But seriously I did really enjoy the experience, there’s something inspirational, moving and calming about sitting cross legged on the floor of a high ceiling temple with Buddha statues gazing down at you, ancient stories depicted across the ceiling and walls, a gentle breeze blowing through the open doors and monks in their brilliant saffron robes (civara) meditating alongside you. My thoughts clarified, things I’d been deliberating on, crystallised. Of course that could have been because there was a shortage of blood flowing to my brain due to the fact in was stuck below, caught inside my folded legs that had lost all feeling. Half an hour of crossed legs would appear to be my limit, something for me to work on, along with the emptying of my mind. I haven’t managed to get back again yet but intend to do so. I had a very impromptu visit to Siem Reap just before my move. I felt like getting away so on the Friday morning at work I asked for a half day, took my small pack and got on the midday bus heading north. It was so liberating! The bus was half empty and I had space to myself to spread out and read the Phnom Penh Post, to doze, to look at the countryside. It took six hours but a relaxing six hours to shake off the shackles and see things afresh. A lovely weekend followed, relaxing by the swimming pool at lovely accommodation, watching rugby, drinking, shopping and eating with friends. I got a return bus back at lunchtime on the Sunday full of good spirits, ready to take on the world and looking forward to moving homes. Lounge/living area View from my balcony with market in photo at bottom.

Kampong Cham and deep fried crickets

Ever wanted to hit fast forward on life’s remote control? Just skip right through those dull, scary or seedy bits and plop yourself right smack bang in the middle of a really good bit? I had one of those times last week; it was bound to happen of course. To write a Blog totally of sugar and spice would be neither accurate nor honest so in the interest of being an “honest Indian” here follows a bit of not “all things nice” . My “week” involved attending our first training program in another town. Let me preposition this by saying, if I could speak Khmer it would not have been nearly as bad a week. And whose fault is that? I know, I know; but you’d really only have to speak to my college French teacher for her to confirm that languages really aren’t my thing. Being a little hung-over on Sunday as I packed and got myself to the MEDiCAM office wasn’t a good way to start, it’s true. There were 4 of us on this trip, myself (the only non-Khmer speaker), two trainers and the driver. They enjoyed chatting the whole 2.5hr trip and if I’d really wanted to feel included I could have thrown some English into the mix but I was happy enough to nod off or just watch the interesting countryside flow past me. There’s not a hint of a hill in the landscape its flat fields for as far as the eye can see with the odd sporadic palm tree dotted about. Men with bullock teams plough the fields and the odd roadside stall breaks up the scene. We arrived at sunset in Kampong Cham and to the hotel that was to become my prison cell for the next 5 days. I managed to get everyone organised enough to set the training room up in close to western rather than Khmer time which meant we could still eat and get to bed before mid-night. My room was awful and the main reason behind my prison cell analogy. The sheets and towels were clean and there was cable on the tv (after two weeks of my own tv not working this was a saving grace for my sanity) but there endith any semblance to a haven from home. It had a very strong unidentifiable smell, was small and just four walls with the door the only opening. No windows and no natural light – maybe this was the real problem? Maybe I’m one of those creatures that’s natural habitat must include that amazing phenomenon called daylight. Otherwise my energy dwindles, I become scratchy, limp of limb and eventually just wither up into a decomposing pile of moist rags! If only they’d known all she needed was light! Oh gawd, I know I’m whinging but it was just too awful! On unlocking the door, I’d quickly flick the power switch on so that tv, fan and lights came on all at once in the vain hope that this would somehow bring life to the bat cave. I was down to the training room before 8am on the first morning to set up my laptop and projector and escape “the room” unfortunately there ended my tasks for the day. The rest of the time I sat myself at the very back of the room and did some reading and pulling together of notes as I’d had enough forethought to throw in some other work at the last minute just in case I had some spare time – what was I thinking??? All I had was spare time. The room was in the basement of the hotel and again home to a strong peculiar smell. The floors were concrete, the walls concrete and was of a long oblong shape. Not the most conducive room to training and I have to admit to nodding off at least twice in the morning alone – once again good forethought to position myself out of view. The training was all in Khmer so I pretty much understood one in every thousand word. What was my role here again?? Pretty stupid of me to have not really thought this one through but the Trainer had insisted that I needed to come, why? To observe? Ok, well I could see that he presented well, was animated, and had his participants engaged – these signals I picked up by witnessing the laugher from the students, their body language and the fact that they were asking questions. Hey, maybe I could sell my services as a qualified non verbal analyst?? -- “what was the crowd thinking Jacqui? “That’s easy! I can tell very clearly from my analysis including the all important non-verbal signals of nose picking and scratching of nether regions that they were overawed by your performance” -- could be a seller! But I digress . . . . I tried to offer feedback, suggest we might want to proceed as we’d originally planned but my offers of advice (me being the Organisation Development Advisor and all) were shrugged off. And so ended day 1 of a long 5 days of pretty much more of the same. The day was in Khmer, the lunch conversation was all Khmer and even when my workmates and myself went out for dinner the conversation was all in Khmer. Where was the only place I could find refuge – in “the room” - oh, god no wonder it was a horrendous week. As I said at the start of this tirade, it would have been less horrendous if I could have understood the language and yes I could have tried more consciously to interject myself into the conversation but for whatever reason – I was just to weary to even try. Maybe it’s because I’m at a culture shock milestone? It’s been fun and unique up until now, not understanding but enjoying just listening to the sound of the words and watching the people converse without needing to understand. It’s become less novel and a bit more tiring. Still, if this is the worst I have to go through, then “I will survive”. There’s three more training courses to get through before I finish this gig and I’m sure if I can just find the energy that I can turn them into positive experiences. Because if nothing else at least I can take away some lessons learnt from this week and do things a bit differently next time. There were some good bits to the week – thank god, I can hear you sign. I got to catch up with Terri a fellow Vida volunteer at a lovely café sitting on the river. We drank red wine, ate a big fat chicken breast with chips and best of all – had a much needed conversation in English. We made to head to Terri’s apartment after our meal but there were no motodops or Tuk-Tuks in sight so I started walking while Terri rode her bike beside me. It started to drizzle again so Terri suggested I run while she rode – nice idea Terri :o) it must have looked hilarious, a silly blonde haired barang wearing a white top (no one wears white here) and thongs jogging through puddles beside another barang riding a bike in the rain. Towards the end of the week I managed to convince the driver to take me out for an our to do a bit of site seeing. I got him to take me to the two Phnoms (hills) that sit next to each other, Phnom Srey and Phnom Prose. Both have temples built on them and Phnom Prose in particular is very impressive. There are two massive gold Buddha statues one upright and the other laying. Phnom Srey is hundreds of steps up and unlike Laos I had to have a wee rest half way up. Similar to Laos though I passed some elders coming up as I was going down. Once again they were delighted when I paid respect to them in Khmer one grabbing my hand and telling me “bonjour” (luckily I actually did manage to learn a few words in those long ago French classes). Another said something to me in Khmer which the driver later explained to me was a wish for me to have a long life. On Friday the training was finished at lunchtime and we managed to finally get away ourselves around 2pm. We stopped at the Angkor temple just outside Kampong Cham city, for a quick look around and I was truly amazed and impressed. Having been to Angkor Wat in Siem Reap I had something to compare it with and although no where near as large, this single Wat is equally as impressive. Apparently older than Angkor Wat, the stonework is slightly different but has the same intricate designs. It truly is a thing of wonder as you contemplate the simply amazing feat of engineering to produce something of its size and magnitude. Something the Cambodian people can feel justifiable pride in. And, better still I was the only tourist there which certainly lent to its charm. Next stop on our homeward journey is a roadside food market for fruit buying (myself and my workmates) and deep fried cricket buying (my workmates only) I did however take the attitude that you only live once and decided to bite the bullet or should I say the cricket. You can’t say “ew yuck” until you’ve tried it and you know if you close your eyes it’s really quite tasty. I’m not completely insane though and drew the line at trying the deep fried spiders. I’ve become a fruit fanatic, and it feels so decadent to be able to buy succulent mangoes, large fresh pineapples (which they happily prepare for you), Durian and Jackfruit all off the side of the road and at such sinfully cheap prices. We make it back to Phnom Penh around 5pm and I am thankfully dropped at my front door. Oh what bliss the sanctity and sanity of my sweet smelling, light filled home. I then finish the week by treated myself all weekend to facials, body scrubs, shopping and eating out.

Loitering about Laos

Better get the cuppa made and get settled into your comfiest chair, this ones a long one . . . . hope you enjoy. Myself and a friend are off to Laos, “will someone get the name right please”? The Imperial French, who made the country part of French Indochina in 1893, spelled the name with a final silent “s” Why? Well just because they're French really. It's stuck anyway although people have a tendency to pronounce the silent “s”. Long before the French, a poor old, hard of hearing Chinese trader, misheard the name “Dao” when it was told to him and instead heard “Lao” which he then circulated (dare I say via Chinese whispers) :o) Anyhow, it’s another month of public holidays in Cambodia for; the Kings birthday, for the Royal Ploughing Ceremony Day and for Visaka Bochea Day. With one days annual leave I get 10 days off in a row and is too good an opportunity not to go somewhere I haven’t been before. Just as I’m locking my gate on Friday 8th I see a minibus outside the Townview Hotel, probably mine I think, but before I can walk the 20 paces it has already departed. I play the waiting game for 10mins on the off chance it wasn’t my bus but on nothing else appearing I jump on the back of a moto and head to the Central Bus Station where Mara’s mind is only just starting to go through the “what the hell am I going to do if she doesn’t turn up" scenario. Our bus is in need of some tender loving care, but it doesn’t break down and the aircon works and at $6 for a 5.5hr journey our expectations are more than met. We make a couple of stops enroute and I end up with rice and pork for breakfast – a little odd for my stomach but normal for the Khmers. We pick up beautiful mangoes at the roadside stalls which they peel and cut up for us ready for takeaway. There are also the usual fried crickets and tarantulas for sale, what a shame I’d already eaten! We arrive in Kratie (pronounced Kra-Cha) at 3.30pm and it’s sweltering hot, hotter than Phnom Penh if that’s at all possible. The room touts are there to greet the bus but are neither aggressive nor even pushy – maybe its too hot for hard sell. Two are more persistent than the others however and to play fair I put their business cards behind my back and get Mara to choose. We end up at a 50 room hotel whose facilities are more than adequate and cost us a measly $2.50 each for the night. Our room tout also organises us motos and drivers (himself and his brother) and we head out for dolphin and monastery viewing. Kratie is so beautiful with a whole stretch of road shrouded in vegetation running along beside the river. My moto slows down at a police stop and I think he may be in for a fine due to his helmetless head. He yells hallo to one of the mob standing at the checkpoint and on we press, on that is until our moto breaks down. I jump onto Mara’s moto with her and her not very petite Khmer driver.

We arrive at the monastery, on the summit of the only visible hill – it’s 160 steps, then 127 steps and then 73 steps straight up! Wow, that’s got the heart pumping. We hear the monks practising instruments – tranquil this is not, but with beautiful views. We get to speak Khmer to some elders who have just climbed the first 160 steps – gosh these old people are fit! The women’s heads are grey and completely shaven and they grin at us with toothless smiles. One of the ladies grabs my arm and says something in Khmer which makes the others all start laughing. Hhhmmm, I wonder why I'm so amusing. Next is a short moto ride to where we jump in our long-tail boat and head out into the middle of the Mekong. Our driver kills the engine and it is so beautiful with only the water slapping against the hull to break the quiet. We’ve timed it perfectly, the suns slowly sinking behind Trong Island while around us the dolphins are surfacing for air, clearing their blowholes as we swivel left and right, catching quick glimpses before they dive again. We are surprised at the number we get to see, the guide books having us believe we may not be lucky enough to see any. Just as the sun is setting they begin to play with each other slapping dorsel fins on top of the water – it really is a majestic experience and we head back to dry land feeling privileged and peaceful at having spent a bit of time with these lovely creatures in their home on the Mekong. Back to two motos again we head back into town. My poor driver with neither helmet nor sunglasses gets pummelled with insects and I have a moment’s anxiety as he wildly swots them away from his eyes. Straight to dinner at the Red Falling Sun and back to the hotel for showers and an early night – exhausted after our days travel and with no idea of what’s to come tomorrow we fall asleep to the sound of monks in the Wat just down the road from us. This 9th day of May has to be one of the craziest days of travel I have ever had! We are picked up at the café where we are have a great breakfast and a lengthy dialogue with the American owner. It’s really more of a lecture than a dialogue as he does not draw breath and certainly never lets another person have the remotest chance of adding to the conversation. That said he’s a wealth of information and recommends somewhere to stay at our next destination. The minivan in which we’re picked up has bent seats and a window missing and they drive us around the block, picking up a mother and baby enroute before depositing us at the bus station a journey from café to destination that could have taken us 5 mins to walk and which in the minivan took 30 mins. I sign of things to come. We get transferred into another minivan and are greeted by the “hallos” from three sweet but dirty young girls who are sitting on the back seat with Mum, another babe in arms. There are only three other people in the van and as we take off and I mistakenly think “this is great”. We stop 15 mins out of town and another 11 people pile in. That's now a total of 21 in a 14 seater. We sit for the whole journey squashed close with no leg room, with our packs on our laps, no aircon and Khmer DVD’s filling the air with excruciating noise. While in motion the wind whips our faces and the temperature is bearable but this van is to make many stops; wee stops (which involves the ladies peeing on the side of the road, their pee skirts or sarongs wrapped around them for modesty), people pick-up stops, people drop-off stops, stops for picking up containers of petrol and then a turn around about 15 mins down the road and return to the petrol pick-up stop as we’d forgotten some containers. We finally arrive at Steng Treng 3 hours later and are told we must wait 2 hours for our next minibus. We have a look at the market and a leisurely lunch and arrive back at the allotted time only to have to wait another hour until we get to leave (when asked why? I am told it’s because they are sorting their beer money??) It’s less than an hour to the Laos/Cambodian border and the customs officers are surprisingly friendly – I’m always surprised when customs officers are friendly. One of them, on seeing my New Zealand passport told me his brother lives in NZ, we chat and manage to avoid paying the “administration” fee. No relatives in NZ or Australia in the Laos side though and we hand over the small fee. Some young Americans come through after us and have to pay at both sides and twice as much as us at the Laos control. They seemed perplexed as to why – are they serious? Could it not perhaps have something to with their country having bombed and caused both major loss of life and destruction to both these countries??? We spend 2 hours sitting at the border, the explanation we’re given is that we’re waiting for more people. By now, and mostly due to the intense heat, patience’s are wearing a little thin especially when we realise the people we’re waiting on have come all the way from Phnom Penh in the time it’s taken us to come from Kratie! Worse off than us though are the poor Laos family also waiting in our minivan with us that were only out to visit the nearby waterfall. Finally, the stragglers arrive and we get to take the family to the waterfall where they spend a very short 15 mins after the lengthy wait. We drop them home and then head to the Pier where our boat to Four Thousand Islands awaits us. We get to experience another sunset on the Mekong on our 15min boat trip to Don Dhet (the main back packer island) then we head on foot (we’re told it’s only 2 km) to another less backpacker packed island, a brave move as darkness soon descends and we trudge through forests of trees as well as along beside paddy fields with the only light from the moon. We hear a bizarre loud noise that wouldn’t be out of place in a Star Trek movie – it’s stereophonic as it shifts from one side of the road and back again. Bats? no idea but nice and eerie all the same. Locals appear out of the darkness and answer yes when we ask if we are heading in the right direction but they add that it’s about 4km or half an hour away – oops. We justify by telling ourselves we need the exercise after a day spent on our asses in various forms of transport. We finally reach Don Khon having crossed the “French” bridge and find accommodation, all fairly much in the dark as this island has no electricity. Generators supplying power to the bungalows and restaurants from sunset until 11pm, only. We dine at the restaurant belonging to our bungalows and are told on ordering that there is no fish – what someone forgot to throw the line in??? They’re sitting on a river for goodness sake! I order something like chicken curry which fails to turn up and on chasing it up 30 mins later am told “its coming” and finally end up with something which turns out to be a very delicious chicken fried rice. Welcome to laid back Laos! Morning in Don Khon, we awake to the sounds of the river, the splash of the fisherman’s nets being cast on the water, the dull thud of hammering in the distance, a long-tail boats engine putt, putting as it passes by, and the harmonised voices of the Lao girls singing while they clean the room next door. It’s rained most of the previous night, such a beautiful sound as it pummels our roof and we lay in bed watching the room fill with light but only momentarily as the lightening flashes. When the rain lets up we can hear the gentle plop, plop as the rain dripps off the roof and onto the massive “Elephants Ear” leaves of the plants surrounding our front door. Having dinner some distance from our bungalows the previous evening we were surprised at how instantly the air cooled as the wind picked up, announcing the rains imminent arrival. It continued it’s tropical downpour throughout dinner which was a fairly lengthy affair (as nothing is done with anything other than the cadence of a snail) but was lovely as we over indulged. The rain subsided eventually and we headed bungalow-bound on our very wet bikes. Now remember there is no electricity on this island, therefore we rode in the pitch black on a dirt road now turned to mush by the rain. I try to keep to what I imagine is the middle of the path with visions of veering off into the river filling my mind. We bounce over big rocks as well as gravel and the bike practically freezes in place numerous times, as I sink into big mud puddles. Mara shrieks out “cow” at one stage, as a water buffalo with nice big horns looms out of the darkness and I dissolve into hysterics while putting my foot down (to gain some control of myself and the bike) and sink three inches into something wet and squelchy. I giggle like a girl as a beacon of light from our bungalow beckons us onwards all the time hoping that it is mud and not buffalo poo that covers my only shoes! The third day of our trip begins with rising late into a steaming hot day and hiring push bikes for a tour round the island. There is only one 4 metre stretch of concrete on the whole island, the rest dirt, and the bikes were definitely not designed with this terrain in mind. One of my hips begins to ache as we cycle along and I realise it’s because one of the springs under my bike seat is missing – glad I’m not riding the Pyrenees on this little beauty. The scenery more than compensates for any discomfort as we venture between rice fields and small forests of trees, it is so serene, the only sounds made by birds, cicadas or the occasional call from a buffalo and the squeak, squeak from my CRC deprived bike. Our path takes us towards a waterfall, as we cross small rickety pedestrian sized bridges and pass beneath a natural canopy of cane branches forming an arch overhead. When we arrive, there are groups of Thai tourists who are very eager to chat and I’m not sure if that’s all down to the whiskey they’re putting in with their coca cola at this early hour. We follow the sign posts to a beach which is not ideal for swimming but is used by Cambodians as a landing point on the island to come shopping. One elderly gentleman was just getting back onto his long-tail boat with bags of supplies and a guitar amp – maybe they’re cheap in Laos?? Further on we see a herd of water buffalo grazing in a paddock with a calf bleating it’s wee heart out. Mum’s answering bellow sounds as she emerges out of trees a couple of fields away, glistening with mud she must have been cooling herself down in the river. She races across the fields and across our path bellowing reassurance to her calf who is bleating all the while. It’s nice to see Mum and calf reunited and all at peace again. We give into the heat wishing we had a big mud puddle to wallow in, and head back to the Bungalow. It turns out not to be that much cooler, with no electricity nor breeze to speak of – we lay like panting Labradors until the heat of the day eases. Our bikes have gone as we make to head back across the bridge to Don Dhet but replacements soon materialise and as fortune would have it, are huge improvements on the last – two springs per seat and no squeaking. We get to see the pitch black path of last night in daylight and are glad we’ve made the trip, again. It’s lovely, quaint and serene and only improved upon as the rain comes in gently and makes it all smell so fresh. Kids are larking about naked in the river, a plump little piglet wanders about close to it’s mum, a man saws a log by hand while others look on and chickens and dogs run across our path – it’s a tranquil country scene and could quite easily be anywhere in the world if you traipse back far enough in their history. The next morning we spend watching life on the river unfold as we wait for our long-tail to come and take us back to the mainland and on to Pakse. Women come down to the river to bath in their sarongs, men throw fishing lines and nets while boats pull in to deliver the supplies for the day to restaurants. There’s much noise on the island today, due to what appears to be the annual tree pruning before the wet. Unless of course they’re finally going to put power on the island and are clearing for the lines – the powers being promised for the last 5 years, could now really be the time? Men are scurrying up coconut palms like monkeys with razor sharp machetes in their hands. They slice and strike at fronds which fall with only one hit while there’s much issuing of instructions from below. Smaller trees have a rope tied around them and men heave together until they break and come crashing down. Some large palms are cut off completely about a metre from their bases. Is there any strategy to this hive of activity – it doesn’t appear so to me, but then who am I to say? It’s certainly the most action I’ve seen from any of the Laotians so far. The Mekong doesn’t fail to delight on our 15 min boat ride – a herd of buffalo up to their necks in the water, young boys fishing off a boat, one holding it steady while the other casts a net and with snorkel on dives straight into the river after it. There’s a Wat on the right bank with Monks robes laid out on a shrub in the sun to dry and a teenager washes his clothes in a big plastic bowl bobbing on its surface. We jump into a Westerners minivan which means one person per seat and an area for everyone’s luggage – oh what luxuries we take for granted. It’s a three hour ride through the now familiar site of green vegetation as far as you can see. An icecream straight off the bus to regroup and find bearings and then we dump our bags at the Lonely Planet recommended Saibidy 2 guesthouse, it’s cheap at $4 each and is extremely clean and tidy. Next morning in the drizzle I get my first lesson on riding a motorbike with gears, and having passed the test, head off complete with backpacks and Mara, into the wild “green” yonder. We stop for fuel and I mistakenly enter someone’s home to pay – interesting that they’ve set up home in the garage forecourt. Next stop is to buy a bungy cord to hold the pack between my legs in place and we leave town proper just as the rain starts proper. It doesn’t let up as I’d hoped during our very slow 37km trip and we arrive at our destination, Phasoume Resort, soaked through. The Lonely Planet describes this place as the “Disney Land” of Laos and although there is definitely an air of make believe about it, it has been put together really well. 8 years ago a Thai guy employed 24 men and an elephant to clear this site for an ethnic village park. They built all the buildings (restaurant, tree houses, and bungalows) pathways and seating etc out of the wood from fallen trees. Then they replanted hundreds of trees and shrubs and in 8 years nature has filled in the rest so that they now have a very jungle if somewhat contrived feel. The Thai guy is still there and the sad part of this story is that he contracted malaria just before the park opened and went blind as a result of being in a malaria induced coma. He never got to see the park opened but loves the place and wants to retire here. He and his wife employ 80 staff and house 50 of them onsite and they all seem to love being there with, and working for them. Local tribes people “exist” in the ethnic village for the tourists demonstrating weaving, playing of instruments or just going about village life and seem to be happy to do so. Our accommodation here is a little more expensive at $15 each a night but feel it’s worth it for the surrounds and our experience here. Our bungalow backs onto the river and is closest to the waterfall with our deck having a prime view. The bathroom facilities have no roof just a huge deck umbrella covering the loo. How gorgeous! Showering under the stars while you stand on a floor of pebbles and treated tree stumps. No floors requiring moping here. The rain has let up as we hit the road again for Tadlo, about 60 kms away through some of the lushest vegetation you can imagine. It seems to creep silently right up to the roads edge and you can imagine it very easily covering up the road if your back was turned for too long. Our moto has no power which makes for a long trip but a safe one as all manor of animals have right-of-way on this main highway. I repeatedly slow for piglets and chooks or herds of goats who just meander sedately across the road, and I even have to stop completely as a herd of cows lay across both lanes, it’s wonderful and we’re so glad we’re on a bike – you miss so much in a car or bus. We have a meal at Tadlo and check out the waterfall and then it’s pretty much time to head back as I don’t want to be riding in the dark. It’s bathing time as we head back and we see girls washing in their sarongs and boys in their shorts down at the river. Next day we head up onto the Bolven Plateau and towards Paksong. It must be a pretty big ascent as our moto almost comes to a stand still on occasion. Tadfane is one of the much publicised waterfalls but we are recommended to stop at another waterfall 3 kms before it and we are so glad we do. With steps that descend right to the bottom of the waterfall then raised wooden walkways at it’s base it’s stunning viewing and an amazing experience to be so close to something so powerful. I could have stayed there for hours in this green cool place. Instead we have to make the arduous climb back up the extremely steep steps, not for the faint hearted this one. Next is Paksong market where I become a blithering mess over the most gorgeous puppy dressed in powder blue shortie pyjamas with a wee hole cut in the shorts for his tail. Gosh, just the thought of him makes me go all mushy. It takes us about half the time to get back to Phasoume Resort as it’s downhill all the way. That night, as the only overnight visitors we’re invited by the Thai guy to join them in a Catholic Mass. They have already held a Buddhist ceremony in the morning and both are an annual event. It truly is one of the best experiences of the trip as we get to share and be part of this special community. All of the staff whether Buddhist, Catholic, Protestant, or “Ghost” come and sit on the floor around us and the Thai guy, while we wait for the priest from Pakse to arrive. It’s about 26 years since I was at my last Mass (dragged along by my great school friend Colleen who got me along under the pretext it would be a great place to meet boys – and she was right) The trappings and actions are pretty much the same from what I remember but this one is conducted wholly in Laos so I have to watch my neighbours out of the corner of my eye for when to bow my head etc. Everyone is here, the ladies we bought weaving off this morning, the man who played the instruments, the girl who made our fruit shakes and the grandchildren from my photo. They all sing together and some join in the offerings part of the ceremony and others the receiving of the body of Christ (forgive me Catholics if I’m getting this wrong). It’s lovely that when I look about me I’m greeted with smiles that say we’re happy you’re here with us being part of our community. After Mass everyone eats together and we’re served just as though we’re part of the crew. Its lovely that there’s this simply assuredness, by them ,that we would be eating with them tonight. No debate or asking the boss for permission it just happened so naturally. That night we are accompanied by one of the workers the 10mins to our bungalow and he points out the guards who have been sent to sleep in the small bungalow next to us, they weren’t there last night and it feels like they’re come just to make us sleep better. If I’ve ever needed a reason why I should travel; to have a simple but glorious experience like this is more than reason enough. Back to Pakse the next morning to drop off the motor and book our bus back to Phnom Penh for the next day. We round up a Tuk-Tuk and head to Kiet Ngong so I can fulfil my wish and have another ride on an elephant. (The last being in Chang Mai, Thailand over 10 years ago). It’s not quite as I imagine, no trek through dense vegetation up the mountain. But it’s still a nice 40 min ride and a pleasure to experience one of these amazing creatures at close range, even though there were slight flatulence and snot issues. The stay in Pakse and Laos for that matter, finishes with a glorious foot massage and a very mediocre noodle stirfry. We leave at 8am and arrive back in Phnom Penh two hours early at 8 pm! A much better trip than the one up – thank goodness, and we get dropped at our front doors. It really was lovely to cross the border back into smiley Cambodia land and a relief to actually be able to converse with the locals again, even in my still very limited Khmer.

Laos trip for blog