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

Storms, torturers and missing parcels

Dad, this blogs for you . . . :o) Government Departments and missing parcels The Phnom Penh post office is a government department with all the simply horrific processes, systems and customer service that you’d expect from a government department from 30 years ago. Well Cambodia is 30 years behind the rest of the world and not I hasten to add solely due to things under its own control. Civil wars, attacks from other countries plus genocide have done nothing to hasten progress in this poor country. I have two parcels that have gone AWOL, so make a trip to the P.P Chief (and only) Post Office, it’s a marvelous old building and that’s about where the marvelous ness ends. Although, I’m starting to learn how things work on this, my second visit. Express post parcels go to a company in one part of the post office, parcels from New Zealand go to another part of the post office, parcels from Australia go to the same part of the post office as the express parcels and the parcels without tracking numbers go to yet another part of the post office. If you receive a parcel and have a post box then you should have a notice put in your post box to let you know your parcels has arrived – in my case this has yet to happen. Every parcel received by the post office is entered by hand in a book which the person belonging to the AWOL parcel then has to search throw row by row. It makes for quite interesting reading – someone simply called “Elder” gets quite a lot of mail. I make the mistake of getting to the post office at 1pm and although the companies with parcels for New Zealand and for express parcels are at work they don’t have my parcel and they send me to the another part of the post office that holds parcels without tracking numbers and I find this company representative asleep on the counter. I daren’t wake them until 1.30 (normal back from lunch time) but then notice the sign that says they don’t start back until 2pm! I return to work and come back later to find a very friendly and helpful (maybe she has just started in this role) lady serving. She gives me two books of parcel lists to look through and she laughs when I let out a shriek of excitement when I finally actually see my name in print. I get charged 2000 riel for the pleasure of dealing with this government department and it’s probably worth every one of the 50 measly cents. I leave the post office to see a monkey walking along the footpath – ho hum, I’m in Phnom Penh – don’t you love it? ----------------------------------------------------------- Khmer Rouge Tribunals Kand Kang Kech Eav or “Duch” as he is infamously known is one of 4 current detainees who together are responsible for approximately 2.2 million deaths across Cambodia over a 4 year period in the 1970’s. Or a least that is what the Khmer Genocide Tribunal is trying to prove. Duch is the first detainee to be tried and leaves his detention centre everyday to face five - international judges (one from NZ and the only female) and multiple lawyers in an International Court of Law situated about 14km outside of Phnom Penh. The court room and the detention centre were purpose built with buses ferrying the public daily from outside the central bus station. The public are encouraged to attend, and actually received an email myself from the Australian embassy suggesting I attend and that we encourage others to do the same. This felt a little weird to me, it almost felt like drumming up business for a “show”. On arriving catering facilities and brochures handed out in both Khmer and English added to my feeling. The deadly seriousness of it becomes all too apparent as we got searched multiple times for arsenal and on entering the courtroom see it is protected by a Perspex screen. Anything that could be used as a weapon or projectile is taken off us, including Emily’s Havianas which are obviously considered quite dangerous. The observation room is huge and sits about 200 people at a guess. It’s nowhere near full on this 8th day of the trial where as you’d imagine the majority of the spectators are Khmer with a smattering of westerners including a small group of backpackers who looked like they’ve had to scrimmage around at the bottom of their backpacks for those rare items of “dress-up” clothes they’ve brought with them. We hear a buzz and everyone stands at the judges resplendent in their cerise gowns enter the courtroom. Duch is moved to the dock by his guards, he’s wearing a white (the colour of virginity and innocence) polo shirt and highest trousers I think I’ve ever seen! The proceedings being with the Core Prosecutor clarifying a few points from previous day’s hearings. It’s all very polite and civilized with no angry cross examinations like the television courtrooms I’m used to. Next the Civil Party lawyers got to do some questioning on torture techniques. Duch acknowledged that he wasn’t in favor of the plastic bag technique as the prisoner quite could quit easily be suffocated before they obtained a confession. Whips and electrocution using a phone line were the favored forms of torture to start with although water-boarding (maybe the Amercian’s learnt this unsavory skill off the Khmer Rouge for Juantanomo Bay) came later. He also explained that the shackles were not used for torture but rather for detention. I’m sitting there listening to this verbatim and not quite believing it. It’s quite hard to fully comprehend that this really is not a television show and that these acts were actually performed on real human beings – by the thousand! We leave the trial at lunch recess and I read in the papers the next day that Duch for the first time became intolerant and rude to the lawyers that afternoon so much so that the Chief Judge had to give him a dressing down on showing respect. How controlled is this man being of himself? Is he an emotional time bomb waiting to go off – I think it’s what everyone expects. But then maybe only an unemotional person could have performed such acts of cruelty on other human beings. ------------------------------------------------------- Storms and lengthy meetings They’re saying the rainy season has come early this year, the rains aren’t due for another month but then what weather in the world is as it’s supposed to be? In some ways it’s a blessing as it brings with it some relief from the heat but on the other hand the mozzies have come back with a vengeance. Our Executive Director decided to call a staff meeting at 4.10pm a couple of Friday’s ago – if he did that in Australia he’d be the only one in the meeting, no actually on second thoughts he’s probably already be over at the pub himself. The meeting was to be a quick round-the-table to reflect on what everyone had accomplished in the week (great initiative and forward thinking). Cambodians unfortunately are not known for saying something quickly and concisely when they have the chance to draw it out endlessly. So as the torrential rains are pouring outside and we’re all keen to get to the safety of our homes the meeting goes on and on for two hours. I have to duck out and ring to cancel plans for meeting a friend hardly being able to be heard over the thunder and the roar of the rain. Finally at almost 6.30 with the meeting finally at an end and with a break in the rain I get to undertake the adventure of getting home in the aftermath. I’m one of the lucky ones as my moto actually starts – I pass a lot of people pushing theirs. The main road from work is a busy two laned road which to my horror is now mostly underwater. I guess this the time to see if Scooby can float – oh why doesn’t she have big wheels??? The traffic is pretty much gridlocked even motos struggling to gain any forward momentum. I drive on the centre white line as this is just about the only part of the road not under water. It’s fairly nerve-wracking me on my bike, low to the ground, half submerged tyres, in the dark and jostling for position with massive Lexus 4x4’s and Prados. I grit my teeth, hold by ground and take the small gaps of opportunity when I see them. It starts to rain again half way through the journey but it’s only light and my lovely wee Scooby sees me safely to my destination, too late for the movie but hey it’s time for dinner anyway. I practically skull a mug of beer to calm my nerves and try not to dwell on the what-ifs of that particular hair raising journey from work. Just another adventure in a fascinating life in Phnom Penh! -------------------------------------------------- Anzac Day I and a few hundred others attend an Anzac Day, Dawn Service at the Australian Ambassadors Residence. We cycled there at 4.30am through streets empty and still – it’s amazing to feel Phnom Penh so calm. They presented us, on entry, with candles threaded through a leaf and we stood in the beautiful grounds listening to the last post and the very bad singing – why do they insist on singing songs pitched so high only Dame Kiri TeKaniwa can reach the notes?? There’s the moments silence and the laying of the wreaths and I think about the fact that it’s 12 years since I was at Gallipoli attending the same ceremony. We all head off for a beautifully laid- on buffet breakfast at the nearest hotel, us volunteers not quite believing our luck. There’s Two-Up of course, and then we head to the Winking Frog pub for a 8am glass of orange and just a wee nip of vodka – it is Anzac Day after all – Lest we Forget. ---------------------------------------------------------- Jacqui on her soap box Horrific numbers: 156 people were killed in January alone in traffic accidents! The result of 950 traffic accidents. Although the Chief of the traffic division wants to blame the fact that there is often 4 to 5 people on one bike and although this may expedite the numbers, I believe it’s more a symptom of the large numbers not a major cause. They have now made it against the law to have more than two people on a bike – this, if it’s enforced, will have a major impact on family outings. But lets look at the other causes of traffic accidents, how about the constant running of red lights; driving on the wrong side of the road; driving too fast, driving while talking on a mobile phone; turning left out of the extreme right hand lane in front of a mob of traffic; being too short to be able to see over the steering wheel of your 4x4 or use your mirrors; riding your motos side-by-side while you have a chat – urrrghhgh the list goes on. I know I’ve mentioned the traffic before but it’s unfortunately the thorn in my side for at least 20 mins twice a day – if I wasn’t blonde I’m sure you could see my hair turning grey! What’s the answer? I have no idea but this is serious and has nowhere near the amount of funding or attention as some of the other “topical killers”, like HIV/Aids. Not wanting to take anything away from this serious disease, it’s killing in big numbers too but those numbers are decreasing, the road toll is increasing! Right I’ll get off my box now.

Thailand, water festival and island paradise - photos to come.

Thailand, what bliss to be heading there again, it always feels like my second home (well third at the moment, after Cambodia and Australia) Our trip starts with Cambodia giving us a hefty kick up the backside as we leave, in the form of $25us departure tax, which we never saw coming, and I accidentally eat my first piece of chocolate in three months but other than that the start of our trip is a smooth process until our taxi from Suvarnabhumi airport stops along the motorway to Bangkok city. The driver gets out and after a while I follow him - we have a flat but it’s ok cause the driver has already rung his mate. We stand on the side of the motorway and wait while streams of bright pink and yellow/green taxis all with tires ready to burst they are so full of air, zoom past us. The motorway police turn up and hospitably pose for a photo and provide Cara with a light for her cigarette. We don’t wait too long before our driver’s friend turns up and us, our luggage and spare tires are swapped between vehicles. Arr, so that’s why he didn’t change the flat. Our driver was a really cheery fellow and assured us “we no have accident” demonstrating by pointing to the Buddhism markings on the ceiling of his cab and the photos of the King and Queen and his mother on his dashboard – apparently we were in safe hands! That made me feel much better, especially as the faint bouquet of alcohol wafts over to the back seat and I’m pretty sure his eyes are closed as he veers precariously across lanes. We decide the best bet is to keep him talking and tried the New Year festivities as a topic. This roused him from his stupor alright but created other dangers for us as he became very animated and proceeded to take his hands off the steering wheel repeatedly in order to clap in demonstration of his excitement! It's reassuring to know there are many similarities between Cambodia and Thailand and the very first we discover is that taxi drivers in Thailand also say they know where your destination is when in reality they have no idea. The nice twin room in our hotel had turned into a grotty room with a double bed during the flight but we decided to make do that night but pay the extra for the upgrade for the following couple of nights. We found a great little restaurant called The Gallery, close to our hotel on Sukhamvit Road that first night. It was all old wood and looked like an old two storey Chinese shanty, lots of character. The menu was huge and the food great although the prices and the chilli I got caught in my throat were enough to make my eyes water. The people watching was also great, I’d forgotten how wild, crazy and funky people in Bangkok can be. We shopped for most of the next day – doing MBK some justice then on to an Electronics mega to buy Cara a laptop. We heard the protestors before we saw them as we crossed the walk bridge between the Paragon Centre and MBK. The trucks crowded with red shirts passed below us, loud speakers blaring and flags waving. We decided to take the tried and tested backpacker route that night and headed to KoSan Road by Tuk Tuk. The Tuk Tuk’s in Bangkok are on speed compared to their Khmer cousins, traveling at, at least double the speed and with twice as much noise. On reaching our destination I soon realized my fashion faux pas as my top became see-through and my jeans soaked as we were not only squirted with water from plastic guns but bowls of water were emptied on our heads! Then there was the Tiger balm talcum powder which relieved aches and pains as it decorated you in traditional New Year fashion. We sat and watched the shenanigans as we ate a meal and tried to dry out although there was really no escaping these festivities as water shots were fired and found their mark as random guns passed by. We found somewhere dry with music and a dance floor later on and danced in soggy jeans and see-through tops in airconditioned air! Brrrrrr. Two sisters good natured and full of fun joined us on the dance floor. Unfortunately the night ended on a bit of a sour note as a fist from an angry partner connected with my face instead of its intended target – one of the sisters. It wasn’t really what you'd call a king hit and I was stunned more than anything. The sisters were horrified and apologetic and there were tears when I told them not to ever let a man treat them like that. They tried to get us to carry on with them for another drink to apologize but I thought that was probably enough excitement for one night and our first in Bangkok - you know how the song goes . . . something about humble . . . I got up the next day with a very sore head (hangover) and sore eye socket (punch) – but was pleased to see no bruising. We managed to stay dry the next day long enough to have breakfast and book a bus to Koh Samet for the next day. We made the mistake of going to KoSan Road again and saw that things were just the same as the night before which meant there was no chance to shop – all stalls were packed away for the duration it would seem. To get away quickly and avoid getting saturated again we made our second mistake of the day and got into a Tuk Tuk! I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so wet with clothes on before. Groups of people lined the streets and if they didn’t have hoses to wet you they had bowls and buckets of water. Cara, until then, fairly hung over was quickly brought back to life after the first bucket filled with ice cold water was thrown at us. Our Tuk Tuk driver was considerate enough, to the crowds, to slow down so they got a better shot at us! It really was pretty hilarious as the mayhem continued along the roads and passengers in Tuk Tuks squirted water at other Tuk Tuks as they pulled up at lights or drove past. If only we were armed! There was one slightly sobering moment for us though, just after leaving KoSan Road we saw a road blocked off and at the entrance to it, a bus on fire. We could see smoke billowing from each end and flames devouring the tops of the seats inside, it was completely incongruous with the fun and celebrations two minutes down the road. With two sets of soaking wet clothes I headed to the rooftop pool and dried myself and my clothes out while I listened to the high-jinx’s going on many storeys below me on Sukhamvit Road. Away from the craziness (or so we thought) we headed in our mini-van (that amazingly was right on time), the two and a half hours south to Koh Samet Island. People were having water fights from the back of their 4x4 utes along the highway – don’t these people ever stop? We had to wait two hours for the next ferry so did what we do best and shopped. We were back at the pier in plenty of time to catch our ferry but had received no instructions on what part of the pier to wait at. Turns out we were in the wrong spot which we luckily discovered, after asking about a million people where we were supposed to be. A girl (our savior) knew English enough to race off on her motorbike and make a call to the ferry which had only just left (late) and was happy enough (well maybe not happy as such) to come back for us – thank god! On arriving on the island we too climbed on the back of one of those 4x4 utes with our luggage and proceeded to once again be soaked to the skin. Starting to get a little over it now, especially when luggage and electronic equipment is involved. The driver stopped, bless him, and his wife loaded our smaller bags and Cara’s new laptop into the cab with them. The resort was a welcome sight but unfortunately we were once again taken to a double- bed cottage and what seems to be an oft repeated enterprise – "of course we could have a twin room but unfortunately they’re only available in our more expensive rooms". Let us just say the final outcome of some fairly intense discussions involving the booking agency and the resort manager saw us upgraded to a lovely deluxe cottage with twin beds and a much nicer outlook! Game Title: “Try-it-on with Single Tourists”, Competitors: Cara & Jacqui vs Thai Hotels, Current Score: 1 all – thank you very much!!!! Koh Samet turns out to be a lovely small island, not too commercial or built up and with a pretty good mix of foreigners and Thai’s on holiday. We have a fantastic 5 days here and don’t wont to leave. We start the holiday with cocktails instead of dinner at a resort just a stroll away from ours. The prices are really reasonable but the English owner’s girlfriend-come-chef has gone AWOL. We get an (expensive) taxi 10 minutes along the road to another restaurant/bar on another beach where we sit cross legged on mats laid out under squat tables – brilliant! We venture to a couple more bars that night on the same beach. One which was a bit quiet saw the barman entertaining themselves by putting talcum powder on all the guests faces and at another we met two Cambodian barman who we got to practice our Khmer with. I also got taught some of the fundamentals of fire twirling and we had fun dancing in different wigs courtesy of the Thai couple who were the owners. Given the price of taxis (300 Baht – about $12aus for a 1/2km ride), we decided to hire a motorbike for a couple of days. The only paved road is on the part of the island where our resort sits but is not where the better beaches are. So we headed over the dirt and deeply rutted roads on a mission of discovery, building up my arm muscles as I struggled to keep myself, Cara and the motorbike moving in a straight line and upright! It was great fun and we did some great exploring, discovering a couple of beautiful, pretty, deserted beaches. We also found a sign saying “Sunset” and headed there the next night to watch the sun go down across the great expanse of ocean. We also did some walking, one day heading around a couple of peninsulas and some serious rock traversing to get to a secluded beach. Unfortunately it wasn’t a great beach and with concerns over the tide coming in and us being stranded we headed straight back. It was an absolutely steaming hot day and we followed our trekking with a swim at the beach in front of our resort. The water is like a bath but it still better to be immersed than sweating in the heat. I went to stand up in the water and put my foot straight onto a sea urchin. God, did it sting! I had no idea what a sting from a sea urchin entails so waddled to reception to ask their advice. One of the guys sat me down on the decking and dosed my foot in vinegar and then proceeded to tap it on the four puncture wounds with a beer bottle, luckily it was kind of numb. He told me what had entered my foot would come out of its own accord in about three days – oh good, at least I wasn’t going to keel over or anything. The rhythm of the island is go out late, stay out late and get up late, so that’s what we did. We met a local tattoo artist called Gai who also did a fire show at night so we went and checked that out. I have to say it was one of the best fire shows I’ve seen in Thailand and in 9 visits I’ve seen a few. There were 6 of them who shared the limelight and stretch of sand in front of the Silver Sands bar. They were all brown as berries with buff bodies bathed in perspiration so even without their fire show skills I think myself, Cara and every single female there, would have been kept entertained. There was cute factor as well as Gai’s nephew aged 7 put on his own fireshow – he was awesome, full of confidence and his own tricks! There were also gorgeous little puppies wandering around the beach mats so my world was pretty much complete – hot bods and cute puppies! We ate like kings, drank like fish and slept like babes – the perfect holiday!

Weddings, sunday rides and rude words

Emily, Kurt and Sobonn - heading out on our Sunday ride

Playing support crew at the Mekong River annual swim

Giving my wee silk selling friend a lift on Silk Island.

Having lunch at the beach, Silk Island Locals enjoying being in and on the water - Mekong River, Silk Island Dr Somuny's sisters wedding

Oxen and cart outside my apartment on Street 242.

Butchering pigs then shaving them also on the street along from my apartment

I love Cambodians! Leaving work yesterday one of the drivers (who never stops smiling and laughing) said to me “Yackie, you look very beautiful today” Isn’t that so nice? Of course, in my flustered state I said back to him in Khmer “It’s hot” instead of “thank you” but I think he got the message. And why Yackie?? there’s no “J” in the Khmer language so I quite often get called Yackie. “Yackie” –Yaklike, a bovine creature of hairy appearance with long horns. I’ll leave that thought right there. We had another trip to Sihanoukville and the beach the other weekend. We managed to get a taxi down there for a Khmer price – almost half of what we paid for the last trip. It’s great having Khmer friends to make the booking for you. Funnily enough it was the same driver and car that took us the first time. We were a few hours later reaching Sihnoukville, however, as the driver had to go to the market and then make deliveries enroute - we paid the Cambodian price it’s only fitting we receive the Cambodian level of service. We stay at “Cloud 9” bungalows this time, it's a great place with bugalows built up the hill behind the sea. They do food and have a bar with a barman that’s all character and pink shirts. He's a good choice of barman cause you want to sit and have a couple while he spins the lines in his Khmer-English with an American accent. Friday night is fairly eventful and not necessarily in a good way. We’re standing waiting for some food to be cooked when someone yells out “cool look, fireworks” we can see sparks flying into the sky across the road but soon realize it’s not fireworks but a fire! A whole guest house, newly built, goes up before our eyes. All that’s left is a shell in what feels like minutes. There’s no fire brigade and we fell sick as we wonder if there was anyone inside. As it turned out a friend of ours met last time we were in S.Ville was the only one staying there and thank god he wasn’t inside at the time. He'd had to race back in to rescue his possessions but wasn't lucky enought to save everything. Worse still the owners saw it as a chance to recoop some of their loses and decided to lay the blame for the fire at Rob's feet. He discoverd this the next day when he went to the Police station to make a report for his insurance. The police let him know that he was being held responsible and accordingly he had to pay a $30,000 fine. Thankfully he works locally and could bring in reinforcements in the form of a priest and the priests very ivfluential friends who happened to also be police – the charges were dropped straight away. Just shows how quickly things can go pear shaped here and just as quickly, if you're lucky, go right again. We spent most of the rest of the weekend lazing around Otres beach on sun loungers and frolicking (so maybe we weren’t frolicking but the word sounded right) in a sea with a very tepid temperature. The young girls that wander the beach trying to entice you into purchasing their wares are not aggressive. They’re just happy to spend time sitting on your sunlounger in the shade chatting and sharing a laugh until you know them enough that you give in and end up buying something that you really didn’t want or need. Well that’s how it is for me anyway. Over two days I ended up; getting a massage, buying a sarong and three bracelets (had to be fair, couldn’t buy off one girl and not another) and agreeing to having my leg hair plucked out individually with some lengths of cotton! Gees, these girls can be convincing! Five minutes into the hair extraction I was regretting my insanity as my calf cramped up and I leapt up off the sunlounger sending both girls (one for each leg) flying off the end of it. Quite an entertaining thing to watch I can imagine as the girls shrieked with surprise and then laughter. The next week saw me attending another Khmer wedding celebration, this time for the sister of our Executive Director. Amazingly, by Khmer standards she’s ancient for getting married, she’s 42! Actually that’s ancient by Western standards – there’s hope for me yet :o) The whole of MEDiCAM leaves from work at 8am and heads south for 40mins to Kampong Speu where the party/ceremony is taking place. As we arrive we are made to feel like VIP’s as we’re led to sit with the bridal party and their family. The Master of Ceremonies (who oddly has a Hitler type mustache drawn on his lip and a wig of dreadlocks on his head) draws attention to our arrival and especially to the two westerners. We’re just in time to see the third of the five ceremonies, the second having taken place at 7am that morning and the first the night before. The bride has her own stylist to assist with costume changes and hair and makeup throughout the day. Mr Hak our communications manager translates the proceedings to me which are like the Khmers themselves, steeped in tradition but also amazingly colorful, relaxed and full of fun. We watch one other ceremony and then head off in different directions until we all come back together at 4pm for the eating of the meal. The girls head off to get their hair and makeup done and the boys head off to the neighbors house to play cards and try and win money off each other. Me and Emily head to the markets for a look see. It’s like all Cambodian markets, tightly packed together stalls selling anything from underwear to offal and full of smells that make your eyes water. We get back to the wedding all dolled up (not to be outdone by our Khmer sisters) but don’t eat until the majority of the guests have eaten and left. I find it quite strange but most of the guests arrive, eat, provide a present in the form of a donation and then leave. It’s only family and close friends that stay around for any length of time and get involved in the drinking and the dancing. Of course MEDiCAM gets really involved in the drinking and dancing – myself and Emily struggle to get any time in our seats as we’re constantly approached for a dance around the table of fruit. The boys are drinking whiskey with soda and getting really quite merry. There’s no issue of getting pulled up for drunk driving however as the local police officer is drinking with them, that is when he’s not up dancing or singing with the band. He’s handedly parked his police motorcycle in amongst the wedding tables – hey there are criminals out there! We return to Phnom Penh the next morning with many a sore head, amazingly for once it’s not the westerners who have been the drunken bums and best of all we don’t have to be back at work until after lunch which means 1.30!

I have another action packed weekend which includes breakfast at Java and a visit to the Russian Market to drop off a skirt to be altered. Then we move onto Khmer massages and a facial – oh what bliss. My body and my face are in second heaven! I’m then running late for dinner which is Indian with a very annoying Indian owner “oh no, you must have two Chappati, you cannot be having only one”. Then it’s off to a show – The Vagina Monologues and a full house. I’d never heard of it before but apparently it’s been on in Australia for a few years. A show created to bring awareness of and support to the abuse of women. The funniest bit would have to be the moaning sequence where when asked what the moan of a single female expat. in Phnom Penh sounds like . . . there was silence. Yep, there sure aren’t much moaning going on here!

Sunday, four of us meet early for lunch and then head off on our cycles across the Japanese Friendship bridge to watch the start of the annual Mekong swim. The fastest swimmer made it across in 7min the slowest in 45 - but hey he was 71. We hitched a ride on a ferry with our bikes and headed across to silk island where I’d been a few weeks earlier with Peta. It was nice cycling along the narrow dirt road surrounded by mango trees, fields and cows although it wasn’t really what you’d call peaceful as a lady on her motorbike decided to ride along beside us chatting. Even Sobonn who’s Khmer thought she could talk a lot. We eventually agreed to buy lunch off her and she left us be. We spent a few hours at the beach again and I gave in and bought a piece of silk and some scarves. The weaving is really exquisite. It was a glorious day in the heat and dust on our bikes, we ended up clocking up about 70km’s and our bodies definitely noticed they’d done some work. Monday sees me and Emily swotting for our Khmer lesson on Tuesday. Last week I asked our tutor if we could move onto the next lesson but she told us not until we'd past the first one - oh the pressure! We did ok though and have moved on although she did say we needed to be careful when we said "hot" as said wrongly could be a bad word. Of course we asked her what bad word but she just giggled and said it was to do with men but was too embarrassed to tell us. That would explain the reason the driver is always smiling and giggling when I talk to him. There's me thinking I've been saying "it's very hot" and instead I've been telling him he's got a very big . . . .