Cambodia: “Kingdom of Wonder” (and sometimes… I wonder why?)

I have landed in Cambodia and I’m settling in to life here with only a few hiccups and sputters. Mostly, I am adjusting to what it means to exist in a truly undeveloped nation. Cambodia is at once dusty, humid, smelly, eager, humble, changing, struggling, corrupt, resilient, naïve, gracious, polite, frustrating and loveable. 

I am living in a communal house run by the PEPY organization (an NGO that runs tours in order to support education and schools in rural Cambodia). Downstairs is the office and upstairs are the dorm-style rooms. It’s a tad claustrophobic, but makes life much easier.

 

My first few weeks here have been taken up in the NGO work-wise with mostly administrative tasks, such as organizing shipments of books for classroom libraries for children, editing newsletters, writing recommendation letters for Cambodian staff and organizing a blog between Nepal and Cambodia for the English students at the school.

 

I have also managed to finagle my way into teaching about 10 hours a week - 6 a.m. morning classes and 6 p.m. evening classes Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday (yes, ouch) - at the Australian Centre for Education. How an American has managed to slip her way into an Australian organization with my “Americanized” pronunciation, slang and absence of the oxford comma is beyond me, but I am happy that I will be able to afford to eat while I’m here.

 

The first night here I joined my fellow housemates, we headed out towards town (about 3 kilometers away) and I got a taste of Cambodia in the dark. The first thing that struck me was the traffic – the main rules being: there are no rules. As we rode our bicycles out to the main road along our dirt side road, we bumped over potholes and veered out of the way of approaching tuk-tuks, motor bikes, cars and bicycles, who were also trying to avoid the potholes.

 

When we got to the road, it was good to see that Cambodians drive on the right… well, in theory anyway. As one gets onto the road on their bicycle, they will typically ride along the left side of the road until there is a short break in oncoming traffic, at which point they will veer across the lane to their right, in front of the oncoming traffic, and (hopefully) make it to the right side of the road, at which point they will slowly work their way to the side by dodging the trucks, tuk-tuks and motor bikes that are driving behind them. This feat would be impossible in the US, where drivers pay less attention to other cars on the road than they do to their current cell phone chat, but, in Cambodia people miraculously PAY ATTENTION!

 

As we rode through the town that night, I took note of the smells (mostly sewage and burning trash, but also delicious soups, noodles and rice dishes sold in the little shops). We also passed massage parlors (mostly legitimate), fancy hotels, street stalls selling food, fruit vendors and weary backpackers strolling around the city, being accosted by tuk-tuk drivers (“hey, lady/guy, you want tuk-tuk?” is a phrase heard about 20 times a night by foreigners in the city).

 

The next morning, we joined a PEPY tour with two Australian girls and made our way out to the countryside outside of Siem Reap in the early morning air. As we rode we saw the ice salesmen stopping by homes to carve off a block of ice for the household (clean, factory-produced ice is a wonderful holdover from the French colonial times). We saw women lighting incense to place in front of their Buddhist mini-pagodas (a Cambodian and Thai household staple) and heard loud Khmer techno blasting out of the event halls where weddings are celebrated.

As we made our way into the countryside, we saw lotus flower paddies spring up on the sides of the road and ate fried bananas and drank the juice out of freshly-macheteed coconuts.

On our way back, we dragged our bikes back over the boulders placed in the section of road where the dirt had washed away and came back into town to our house to wash the dust out of our clothes (a daily ritual) and join the team in the office where the house geckos chirp and run along the walls.

 

My next week in Siem Reap was highlighted by a trip to the PEPY Chanleas Dai School, about 1.5 hours from town by truck, where we painted classrooms and I taught a last minute English class to eager 12-15 year old students. How different these students are from Japanese or American students, I thought to myself. There was no trace of the spoiled, haughty or jaded behavior one can expect from children in more developed countries. If only we could import good behavior to places that have running water, electricity and modern medicine, I thought!

 

After our short stint at the school, we returned to Siem Reap and continued to settle in to town. Administrative tasks for PEPY and procuring paying work at ACE have taken up most of the last few weeks.

Last weekend we took a bike trip out to Angkor Wat temple (the main reason for the tourist mecca that is Siem Reap). About a kilometer outside of the temples, we were flagged down as foreigners and ushered through the station where the Sokimex corporation  - a petroleum company – also in bed with the Cambodian Finance Ministry - rips off visitors to Siem Reap by forcing them to pay exorbitant fees (very little of which actually returns to the upkeep of the temples or the well-being of the Cambodian people). Such is the nature of the abundant corruption in Cambodia.

The temples and carvings therein were definitely beautiful (after I stopped seething about the $20/day, $40/3 days pass money going into Mr. Sokimex’s pocket). And, one of these days I will go back to see the remainder of the temple buildings, but for now I’m over the tourist bug.

 

After returning from the temples over the weekend, we came home to a mostly empty house again (much of the staff is working full-time out at the school to lead trips from Dubai) and life returned to “normal.”

Yesterday I taught my first 6 a.m. class and 6 p.m. class (with a 9 hour work day in between). The morning was rough – waking up at 5 a.m. has never been my strong suit (especially if I have to speak coherently an hour later), but the bike ride over to the school was interesting.

As I rode along, I saw the world that exists in Cambodia just before sunrise – a dog peeking his head out of the Cambodian People’s Party headquarters gate, bullfrogs singing in a chorus on the river, an old man outside his little shop slapping himself to wake up, Cambodians doing calisthenics en masse in a fancy western restaurant parking lot, dead pigs tied to the back of motor bikes on their way to market, neighbors lighting their little trash piles outside their homes and food stalls just opening for the morning rush.

 

And now we come to the best part of dragging oneself out of bed at 5 a.m. – the Cambodian students. The adults are even better than the kids! In Cambodia, they answer you! They try to understand you! They are polite, kind, thankful and eager to learn! Dear LORD, and all this at 6 a.m.

 

Many of the students go to 6 a.m. classes Tues-Thurs-Sat because they have to work from 8 a.m. until late. Plus, 6 a.m. is not considered late here. In Cambodian culture it is considered lazy (or so I read) to wake up after the sunrise.

 

At 8 a.m. after the class was finished, and the echoing chants of Future forms (will, going to, to be + -ing, might….) slowly dissipated in my brain, I made my way back to the PEPY house to begin my other job. The rest of the morning consisted of getting t-shirts and marketing materials printed, then trying to figure out how to get them “shipped” to the Dubai tour at the school in the back of a random taxi heading for the Thai border.

 

And alas, that afternoon my digestive system caved and shouted loudly, “oh no, you didn’t!” I was felled by the mighty monster of dirty food – oft times known as Montezuma. As I rolled around in my bed in cold sweats with agonizing cramps in my abdomen, I thought about the 2^nd class I was supposed to teach that evening – this class was more than 2 hours - and wondered: do they sell adult diapers in Cambodia?

 

After a painful and uncomfortable few hours, I took some medication, begged a ride to ACE off a co-worker and hoped for the best.

 

As the class started, the room was spinning and the cold sweats had not yet stopped, but it turned out that “No Dia” effectively tames Montezuma’s fury and by the time we had finished with our future tenses, adult diaper fantasies were a thing of the past.

 

I hope to finish this week off strong with Thursday and Saturday classes, and then our offices will be closed for a week for Khmer New Year! This means that myself and some of my office mates have time to travel. We’ve booked cheap flights to Malaysia and will be relaxing Kuala Lumpur-style (which I’m HOPING includes cocktails with good ice, clean pools and more modern roads) very soon.

 

Signing off from Cambodia in the first of many blogs to come. If it was challenge I was looking for, I’ve found it. I know that my time here will test the limits of my temper, my patience, my caring and my education. I know also that all I learn and experience will haunt my dreams for years to come.

 

North Island, NZ: Lakes, Rivers and Oceans

In the end I head

North - past lakes, rivers, oceans

Towards my final flight

Since I last wrote, I have returned to the North Island in New Zealand and bid farewell to my traveling companion Hannah (who had to return to find a job, agh!). Spent the last two weeks soaking up all the beauty the North Island has to offer and meeting up with friends for final farewells before my move to Cambodia.

 

I began by heading north from Wellington (the capital of NZ) to Upper Hutt to stay with my friend Libby, who in is in the military (ANZAC - Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) at the base there. I immediately ingratiated myself to the locals by getting kicked out of the mess hall for wearing borderline jandals (flip-flops) and a low cut top without a collar. Yes! Making friends and influencing people (a strong suit of mine apparently).

 

ANZAC is an interesting phenomenon. A ranking military in a classless society; Libby explains it as more like a Peace Corps or UN agency than a military, but it still enforces strict hierarchy in the ranks (and no jandals!).

 

The next day, Libby and I headed an hour north to the Carterton/ Masterton area to have dinner with some other friends we met on the course in Auckland. We had a great time eating, trading stories about our shenanigans over the last two months since the course, and collectively celebrating the fact that we it is over. After gorging out on wine, food and shared relief, we parted ways the next morning and I was off for my interview on a local radio station!!! As I’ve said before, I’m kind of a big deal… people know me.

 

A friend of my friend and host Raewyn has a local area radio show and thought it would be fun to get “Jennie from Kentucky” on the broadcast. I’m unsure whether I ever actually live up to the expectations a rockin’ nickname like “Jennie from Kentucky” promises; no Kentucky accent, no hog rearing/ I’m-my-own-grandpa stories and only a very limited knowledge and experience with Kentucky Fried Chicken. However, I hope they got a different flavor of Kentucky as I told about my journeys through the wilds of the South Island, my impending move to Cambodia and even music from my Choir, MUSE (we played a tune from Zimbabwe that we often sing called “Sayitshaya” on air).

 

After many hugs and promises to keep in touch over the years, I was off, again on my own, heading north towards Lake Taupo (the biggest lake in NZ, surrounding by towering, and active, volcanoes).

In Taupo I stayed with a Servas host named Peter. Peter is a retired art teacher and potter who is Dutch, but grew up in Indonesia. Born in the late 1930’s, Peter was imprisoned in a Japanese prison camp during World War II and I found myself tearing up as he explained the experiences of losing his father and suffering starvation, torture and mental abuse during his time in the camp from the ages of 7-10.

 

As we sat and spoke about Peter’s experiences, I thought about my experiences between the ages of 7-10. Granted, I don’t come from the mythically perfect American nuclear family that is so promoted in American folklore, but my childhood was reasonably smooth and uninhibited. I could not even imagine the effect an experience such as this would have on the human spirit and I couldn’t help but think about the Japanese concentration camps America created during the war, and the effects that our actions in Iraq and Afghanistan will have on generations of Iraqi and Afghanistan youth in the future. 

 

I also thought about our actions in bombing Japan in Hiroshima during World War II and Cambodia during the Vietnam War. Americans would totally shit a brick if something like that happened on our soil, and then we would mass produce ‘Merican flag stickers and say things like “smoke them out of their holes.”

 

Or would we? Have we changed enough that we would look at it differently? Is our choice in this new administration, however much it provokes partisan divisions, a step towards listening, understanding and empathy, or a band-aid over the massive fiscal and international relations wound our previous administration created?

 

Over the next day, we soaked in the natural hot springs that bubble up from the underground volcanic activity, and visited the geothermal power plant and the rushing Waikato river, originating at Lake Taupo, which hurls itself along and through the areas hydro-electric dams. We even hiked along the edge of the lake to see some Maori stone carvings (probably about 150 years old), that were most likely created prior to the white man’s arrival, as Maori have many spiritual ties to areas around the lake. 

The next day, I was off to visit my friend Raelene, whom I met while teaching in Japan, in Hamilton. We had a great time re-hashing stories about our time in Nihon and trading info about what each of us has been up to the last 5 years. The next day, we headed out to check out the surfers at Raglan beach on the west coast and do some sea kayaking in the estuary there (rough enough, I assure you, for the preternaturally fit likes of us).

 

The next evening amid hugs and more fond farewells, I continued my journey northeast to check out the wild peninsula of the Coromandel (known for lovely beaches, natural beauty and its rough-hewn and spirited populace).

 

As I wound my little rental car through small, one-store towns and past beautiful beaches and natural caves eaten away by the sea, I realized that I was ready to move on. I know I’ll get tons of flack for admitting this, but I was kind of over it. For one, the last seven weeks have been amazing, but I haven’t slept in the same place for more than two nights in almost two months. Also, the existence of a traveler is somewhat single minded: get up, pack, eat, internet, say goodbye, drive, stop somewhere, get somewhere, do something amazing, unpack, eat, sleep. Wake up and repeat.

 

Traveling can also seem inherently selfish at its core. Although I was going to see and do beautiful, once–in-a-lifetime things and stay with friends I love and care about, most of the time I was just trying to make the most of it and meet my own most basic needs, rather than doing anything of lasting value.

 

As I drove through beautiful towns and past all those breathtaking beaches, I felt rather lonely and disconnected from the world, completely irrelevant to anyone but myself in that moment and bored even with that.

 

And so, a few days later, I arrived in Auckland ready to say goodbye to good friends, drop off my car, give away most of my earthly possessions in order to meet the 27 kg (59 pound, ouch!) luggage requirement leaving New Zealand, and make last minute travel plans.

 

I said goodbye and farewell to my lovely friends Kylie and Rachel (whom I also taught with in Japan all those years ago) and my new friend Courtney (with whom I shared a rockin’ evening of Cold Play and NZ nightlife). I also made a most interesting side trip out to Waiheke Island off of Auckland, where my MUSE choir buddy Sarah and her husband Adam are living and teaching. 

And now, sitting in the Bangkok airport, awaiting my flight to Siem Reap, Cambodia, I am ready for the next thing. I’ll be working for the next four months with my friend Daniella (whom I met on the bike ride in Japan in 2004) and her organization PEPY Ride (a sustainable tourism company which builds schools, trains teachers and generally promotes the positive growth of the Kingdom of Cambodia).

 

All I know so far is that I will be helping to build a library for the organization and also helping with some grant writing for related projects. At some point I may help them take a look at the English language curriculum, but I’ll figure that out later. I also get to stay in the same room! For more than 2 nights at a time! A guilty pleasure, but one I am most definitely looking forward to.

 

Cambodia is a most amazing country. Reading my guidebook ravenously on the 12-hour plane ride to Bangkok, I was amazed at what the people of Cambodia have been through. The genocide of the Pol Pot/ Khmer Rouge regime ended only 30 years ago, and Cambodia is a nation in flux. Working hard to rebuild their culture, infrastructure and national psyche, not to mention the tourist industry, is the order of the day. Everyone who has traveled to Cambodia has told me “You will just love it! They are the most amazing people!” I am excited to bear witness to this culture, and all that I may go through, learn about and question in myself and my culture during that process.

 

Now, three months into my journey around the world, I am at once awed and inspired by the ability of the human spirit to provide hospitality, to endure great sorrow and to see many sides of a seemingly simple equation. At the same time, I see the pitfalls that fear and ignorance create. And again, as I have many times in the past, I see the choices before me and before us all – not just to act differently, but also to think differently and in doing so help to change the world.

 

 

 

South Island NZ: Ridiculous Beauty and Extreme Sports

After flying back into New Zealand February 20^th from Australia, we hopped a final (thank God) flight down to Christchurch on the South Island. After our multiple run-ins with early morning flights and natural disasters in Australia, Hannah and I were overjoyed to have our “el cheapo” rental car to call home base for the next 3 weeks.

 

Less population and more diverse landscapes mean that the South Island is a popular destination for trampers (hikers), van hippies and nature buffs. And, after 2 weeks we can easily say of the South Island: the funk is temporary, the feeling is permanent (i.e. “we smell real bad, but we’re smiling”).

 

Arriving in Christchurch, we met up with Danit and Raz (Servas hosts from Israel). Welcomed into their home, we talked late into the night about New Zealand, Israel (both Danit and Raz grew up on a kabutz) and the United States.

 

The next day we all headed out and about in Christchurch with their two kids and visited the botanical gardens and central city. As the largest city on the South Island, Christchurch is a popular stopover for folks taking a break off working in Antarctica and travelers beginning their South Island journeys.

 

As we picked up our “El Cheapo” rental car the next morning, we felt the thrill of freedom blow through our tangled hair as we took off to visit the nearby peninsula created from a volcanic crater and the small French-themed village of Akaroa.

 

The drive to Akaroa was really the best part of the experience. Fields of sheep munched away along the sides of the road and large farms spread in every direction up the steep sides of the volcanic crater.

 

Before meeting up with our Servas host for the evening, we visited an olive oil maker and cheese factory outside town and drove up into the cloudy hills to search for thrilling views of the bay and the sea. Our hopes for a penguin and dolphin viewing cruise were dashed by the fact that we had (apparently) missed the end of the Summer tourist season by one day, but the overlooks were breath taking as we drove up into the hills towards the top of the old volcano.

 

Val was our Servas host for the evening. She was a smaller 80-year-old lady with white, white hair who looked as though she was about 60. Perhaps it’s all the meditation or a strict vegan diet and good energy crystals, but this lady looked good for 80! Val also has some alternative views on life and spirituality. She believes in reincarnation, telepathic messaging and aliens, so the conversation definitely took on a life all its own as we sat around chatting and opening can after can of worms.

 

After eating a lovely vegan breakfast the next morning, we all parted with hugs and blessings and Hannah and I took off in the misty rain on our way towards Mount Cook, New Zealand’s highest mountain, located among the Southern Alps, where much of Lord of the Rings was filmed. The next few days were filled with a boat rode on a glacier lake and a hike to the terminal face of Hooker glacier (apparently, the guy who named it was a Hooker or something).

 

Our time at Mount Cook also saw the end of my patience with hostel life. Sleeping in a different eight-bed dorm every night with a smattering of 19 year olds is a practice in patience. If one more person had come in late at night when 7 out of the 8 people in the room were fast asleep and turned on the overhead light in order to open her pack and rustle through every single one of the seemingly myriad plastic bags she had packed her face washing regime in, I swear I would have cracked. Thankfully, there were only a few more such hostels on our journey.

 

After leaving the crowded hostel at Mount Cook, we continued on South and checked out some of the sky blue colored lakes on our way down to Queenstown (extreme sport capital of NZ – but more on that later)…

 

Apparently, the lakes are bright blue due to the “rock on rock action” (direct guide book quote) that is created by the moving glacier. The “rock on rock action” (believe me, it never gets oldJ) creates a fine dusting of rock particles in the water, which settle to the bottom of the lake and create a layer that reflects the blue light waves, thereby making the lakes a bright, bright blue.

 

Our time in Queenstown was highlighted by Hannah hurtling herself off a 40 meter high bungee bridge and going out dancing into the wee hours of the morning with the Queenstown locals (none of whom were local). After one last night sleeping in a Queenstown party hostel in the room (of course) under the screaming/laughing/smoking deck, we were happy to make our way further into the more subdued South into the Fiordlands Park and Milford Sound.

 

Over the next few days we drove down to the sound through breathtaking wilderness, cruised around the sound via boat and kayak, spotted a flightless parrot (Kea) digging through our trash, fought with swarms of sand flies and experienced the most beautiful natural environs of any country I’ve ever seen.

 

The most amazing experience, however, happened our first night there. After tramping off into the woods with a flashlight to search out the glowworms hanging under the rocky eaves along a nearby forest path, we managed to catch a sight of the clear Southern Hemisphere night sky.

 

One never forgets how it feels to see the Milky Way from earth. I remember my first time: laying on a grassy beach peering up at the Northern Hemisphere constellation on a lake edge in Canada, watching the Northern Lights shimmer across the sky.

 

And, I will indubitably remember my second introduction to the shining, shooting constellation of lights in Milford Sound. To be in the middle of the wilderness, on a small island thousands of kilometers from the next continent, many thousands of kilometers from the light pollution of Asia or the United States and laying under the enormity of the universe, enveloped in the knowledge of one’s own insignificance in the bigger scheme of things is an amazing experience.

 

Two days later, as my tandem partner and I were hurtling ourselves out of a plane at 15,000 feet to dive into the sky above the mountains, rivers, and farm fields, I was again in awe of how small we really are. As the earth approached at 180 km an hour and our 60 seconds of free fall ticked away before the parachute popped, I spread out my arms and felt the resistance of the air pushing my cheeks back against my goggles.

 

My guide (who shall henceforth be called Hotty McHotterson, due to the fact that I forgot his name) does this about 15 times a day with 15 different people. I was amazed at my realization that anything really can get old as I asked him if he ever got bored of jumping and I swear he actually shrugged at 10,000 feet and said, “I have my days.” Try cubicle life (I thought to myself but did not say).

 

Over the last couple of days we traversed the South Island and drove up the scenic, sparsely populated western coast, stopping in little one horse towns for Diet Coke and bathroom breaks and the all important fuel stops before the next one 200 km down the road.

 

We also made our way onto the river of ice, Fox Glacier, which runs down from the mountain towards the Tasman Sea. As we strapped into our cramp-ons and trudged up the fast-moving (1 meter a day!) block of ice, our guide explained that if trends in warming continue, the huge glacier will actually be completely gone in 20 years. As we stared down into the crevices and ice caves along the trek, it seemed impossibly sad that such an amazing work nature will soon be melted away.

 

To alleviate our sadness, we delighting in explaining the scientific term “rock on rock action” to our skeptical guide, Andrew, who seemed rather amazed that a tourist had actually told him something new. I don’t know if you know this, but we’re kind of a big deal.

 

Leaving our celebrity status behind, Hannah and I moved on Northward up the coast into Nelson, where we met up with a friend from my course in Auckland and checked out Abel Tasman national park (arguably the most beautiful beaches in the world).

As I write we’re sitting on the ferry on our way over to the capital city of New Zealand, Wellington, for a few days of Maori culture museums, immunizations for my upcoming trips to Cambodia and India, pleading conversations and prayers for expediency with the Indian visa authorities and promises of amazing Nepalese food and jazz from another local friend we’re visiting.  Hannah flies out Tuesday for her return to the states and I travel on north stopping to visit friends and check out the North Island before my departure for Cambodia at the end of March.

It has been an amazing 5 weeks in New Zealand and Australia. We’ve met so many different characters and personalities and experienced many beautiful sights, sounds and tastes.

Upcoming adventures include a move to Cambodia, where I will be volunteering with PEPY Ride, potential trips to surrounding countries (Vietnam, Laos and Thailand), jaunts through India and Nepal, over to Italy to hang out with Anna Banana and finally a job in Istanbul (yes, I am actually gainfully employed in a high school there, or will be as of September 1^st 2009).

I am in awe of the natural beauty I have seen here and know now, more than ever before, that my decision to travel will be one I never regret. Self shock therapy indeed.