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June 15th, 2005
10:38 am - Jetlag? What jetlag?
I *like* waking up at 3:30 am every day for three days in a row. It's fun. Whoo hoo.
Greetings from Chicago! I made it back Sunday, and it only took my luggage two days to catch up to me.
Now that I'm no longer within stalking distance of the crazies (how do you say creepy in Khmer?) I plan to do some back entries about my last few weeks, so check back in a few days if you're interested.
Thanks for reading everyone!
Karen
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May 28th, 2005
06:48 pm - Angkor what?
Dear all,
Am quitting school, leaving Chicago and moving to Angkor Wat. Only hope insistence on keeping dreads, nose ring and cell phone won't affect plan to blend in as Buddhist nun. Please send bottled water, bug spray and freeze-dried veggie burritos to me here, care of Black Chicken Wat--temple of the BC.
Love,
Karen
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May 18th, 2005
06:26 pm - Now, where was I?
Ah, yes.
The beaches of Sihanoukville, and Bamboo Island--quite possibly the most beautiful place I've ever been.
(Four days later, I think I've even managed to get the sand out of my clothes. Maybe. My hair is a different story...)
After a semi-harrowing 4-hour charter bus ride (which included 2-plus hours of Khmer karaoke), six of us arrived at the coast. The coast of what, I can't actually say, since I still haven't looked it up. Luckily, the dumber I now sound on this site the more entertained my loving detractors are, so perfect. The coast of some body of water that was lovely, blue and salty. Brilliant.
Anyhoo, four of us decided to spend Friday night on Bamboo Island, which on a clear night in good weather is reportedly a 25-minute ride from Sihanoukville proper. On a cloudy night in choppy waters, it's TWO HOURS. Two increasingly scary, "don't-come-a-knockin'-if-this-boat's-a'rockin'" hours. The upside is that the ride gave the girls and I plenty of time to plan out our new career objective: To obtain lucrative positions as full-time pirates. Pirates! (The best thing about deciding to be pirates is that you get to spend a lot of time talking about booty. Yep, I said it. Booty.)
Bamboo Island is pretty small, and there's just one restaurant/bar-ish place and a series of bungalows, some of which are for rent. I'd be lying if I said the whole thing didn't feel like an episode of either Gilligan's Island or Survivor. The part of the sassy black woman will be played by...
The weekend's highlights:
*Spending the night in tiny wooden bungalows right on the beach. Each one had a single lightbulb that got shut off at midnite. As in, the island's electricity got shut off at midnite. Bad. Ass.
*Sleeping and waking up to the sound of waves lapping up on the shore. Wow. Not just for easy listening CDs anymore.
*Stars, stars and more stars. It made me wish I'd taken Astronomy 101 after all. As it was, we spent much of the night saying things like: "Which one is the Big Dipper? Oh, probably the big one."
*Walking to the far side of the island (which was admittedly only 10 minutes away) and having an entire beach to ourselves. So amazing.
*Talking about booty.
*Getting back to Sihanoukville on Saturday and being stalked by a tiny teenage girl who insisted I buy a manicure from her. I'd made the mistake of pinky-promising to get one from her when I saw her Friday, and she tracked me down. Not so hard to do, as you may imagine. In the end, I got what might have been the world's worst manicure and pedicure for the low, low price of $3. But the pictures are priceless.
*Sleeping in a guesthouse/sauna that cost us $3 per double room. De-to-the-luxe. The scene: Plywood walls that didn't quite go all the way up to the ceiling and a single fan that shut off at daybreak, leaving us to marinate in pools of salt-water-enhanced sweat. The only other drawback: the stray cat that insisted on sleeping in my friends' room. They woke up not once but 3 times to find it sitting on the other side of the mosquito netting right next to their heads. Can Cambodian cats apparate or something? They swear they watched it leave their room, only to keep finding it there, chillin'. They eventually gave up and switched rooms. Bye-bye kitty.
Unbelievably, I only have 3 weekends left here, and I'm trying to decide the best way to use them wisely.
The agenda so far:
Shopping, natch.
Rabbit Island, just off the coast from Kep, about 3 hours away.
Siem Reap, home of Angkor Wat.
I had loosely intended to go to Thailand and Vietnam, but it doesn't look like it's gonna happen. Sigh.
Say it with me now,
Booty
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06:23 pm - No press is bad press
For a not-so-good time, read:
http://www.khmer440.com/chat_forum/viewtopic.php?t=1647&start=0
For the record:
I'm 29, not 18.
I'm a grad student in journalism who's worked at dailies, weeklies and magazines across the U.S. Not that it matters since you all seem to think I can't write my way out of a Lucky supermarket bag, but I thought you should know.
I'm from Chicago, not Cleveland. Right region, wrong state.
Thanks to the anonymous poster who gave me the heads-up about khmer440. I had heard that I'd been mentioned on it, but I couldn't figure out what the reference was until the mean messages started cropping up on my (did I mention it was never intended for the general public?) site. Now, I get it.
*shrug*
If you can't be famous, be infamous.
Cheekily,
Karen
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May 17th, 2005
08:39 am - RKK
So, I have to admit that the nastygrams posted quite liberally across my site initially rattled me. After all, I started this blog to keep my friends and family posted on what I'm up to during my quarter abroad and to avoid the dreaded mass email. Not to attract the attention of self-professed sexpats with too much free time.
The wide-ranging insults, condescending critiques (I've read Elizabeth Becker's book already, thanks, dear), and general unpleasantness left me feeling kinda violated. And very exposed. Anonymity is not something I can hope for at this point, really.
I even briefly considered shutting down the site.
And then I remembered: I'm *paying* for this.
I pay livejournal, and in exchange I get to own a little piece of the blogosphere.
My very own Royal Kingdom of Karen.
And I've decided that in the RKK, we deal with mouthy detractors like they do in so many other esteemed authoritarian regimes the world over: We delete them.
Keep on posting your snide asides (at least until I figure out how to stop you). And I'll keep on deleting them.
My apologies to anyone reading this post who missed the exchanges between mean-spirited strangers and people I actually care about, but most of that stuff had to go. Baaaaad energy.
I left up some of the messages supporting me (I just heart you guys too much to delete you, too), but some of those are gone as well.
Off to polish my tiara and sharpen my scepter,
Karen
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May 16th, 2005
08:18 pm - One more thing about hecklers
Thanks to everyone who is trying to shoo them away--I appreciate it. Especially those of you who whose names I didn't initially recognize but who count ahawk among your friends. Your presence here made my day.
Cheers,
Karen
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05:55 am - Oh goody, hecklers!
I assumed my inflammatory post about exorbitant feminine hygiene products, the Buddha and liquid gold would get me a lotta comments, but imagine my surprise when instead of my friends and family (who this livejournal was intended for), I found a bunch of hecklers. And hecklers of hecklers. Welcome everyone!
Now, no offense, but who in Buddha's green earth are you people?
(2 references to Buddha there, for those of you keeping track at home. Or abroad.)
I can't imagine how you found this site, though I have my suspicions. I'm flattered that you: a) actually took the time to read my apparently offensive/badly written/annoying drivel; b) wasted the glucose necessary to post something in response; and c) have started fighting amongst yourselves. How marvelous.
As for my being, um, an annoying twat was it? Sweetie, you have no idea. You should see me after two Suzy Wongs and a Beerlao. I'm the Internet equivalent of Jar-Jar Binks in the annoying department.
Seriously though, as tempting as it is to start pawing back at those of you who decided to critique what was never really intended to be a site for the general public, I'm not gonna. I was raised right, as my mother will attest. And I'm too busy ruining the Daily, insulting other's religious beliefs and maligning foreign cultures to be bothered. So there.
I suggest some of you go get hobbies of your own as well. You clearly have too much time on your hands.
Sweetly,
AT1
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May 12th, 2005
07:05 pm - Men Beware: There's Girl Talk Below
At the risk of alienating my male readership, I just gotta talk about something that sends most men scurrying: feminine hygiene products (FHP). EEK! Run away! Run away!
When I (and my mother and sister, goddess bless them) packed for this trip, one entire carry-on bag was devoted to FHP. Literally. I had an entire Multipack of Tampax stowed in sandwich bags and a jumbo bag o' Always pads. It felt a little silly, my Paris roommates laughed at me, and I hated lugging the bag through the airport.
And then I got to Phnom Penh.
Land of the $25 maxi pads.
Uh-huh. $25. For a bag of Always pads that *might* run you $3.75 in the States.
Pads. Bunches of cotton wrapped in plastic, for sobbing out loud. Not magic pads. Not pads that turn into liquid gold after you use them. Not special pads blessed by the Buddha. Pads.
Sitting next to them on the shelf: a $12 box of Tampax that looked like they'd been sitting in a back room since Buddha was a boy. My coworker Yvonne has been here for 6 months, and she said it was the first box of Tampax she's seen.
This is the same city where an hour at an internet cafe costs 50 cents, where cops make $28 a month and where a good Khmer dinner can be had for less than a dollar. I'm...stunned.
Fortunately for me, I think my mammoth bag of FHP is gonna get me through this trip. If it doesn't, I don't know what I'm going to do. I wouldn't pay $25 for a bag of pads even if they doubled as floatation devices. And $12 tampons? They better play calming music or something. (Though can you imagine how confused people would be if you had music coming from your...oh, nevermind.)
In Cambodia's defense, there are off-brands of FHP here that apparently cost less (I stumbled away from the section in shock before I could check), so it looks like it's only the barang (foreigner) brands that are pricey. So much for brand loyalty.
Bloated, cranky and crazy from the heat,
Karen
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May 10th, 2005
08:45 pm - At first I was afraid, I was petrified...
Any woman who can't immediately identify the source of the words above needs to stop reading, go download Gloria Gaynor's Greatest Hits, start listening and get to memorizing. The opening line to "I Will Survive." How many times have I stopped on a dance floor and belted that out with a bunch of other tipsy women? I don't even want to think about it.
Now, just imagine those words being sung by 30 twenty-something Khmers who are learning English. So great.
I haven't actually seen this yet either, unfortunately, but my co-workers and I have been dreaming of it for weeks.
The deal: Laure (who isn't the only person I hang out with here, no matter how it seems) teaches English at a university to students who are getting degrees in business. As the final assignment for her favorite class, she decided to have them memorize an English song and perform it recital-style. After a semi-frantic search, she settled on "I Will Survive." Catchy but not dirty, popular but not Britney. (For the record, Jen and I had to talk her out of "We Are the World." Just, no.)
Her students, apparently, were initially not-so-thrilled (they *like* Britney, after all), but once Laure explained what the words meant and how empowering the song is, they got into it. A little too into it, it sounds like. I guess the men insisted on trying to match Gloria's pitch. Ouch.
My coworkers and I have been angling to get invited to the performance day, and I'll keep y'all posted. Just imagining it has had us giggling for weeks.
Other random Cambodiana (like Americana but less expensive):
I've gotten both a manicure and a pedicure at a spa up the street from my office for $5 apiece. Yes, I am a princess, and yes, I am in heaven.
I spotted another black American woman at a market last weekend, and I was so excited to see her I almost *almost* went up and started yammering at her. I eventually decided against it. Having Cambodians look at me like I'm a freak is one thing. Having one of my own look at me like that is a different story.
And brace yourself for this one: Apparently, some of the Khmer staffers at the paper refer to me, all in love, of course, as Black Chicken Number 2.
Black Chicken. Yep, I said Black Chicken.
Never in English and never to my face, but an expat coworker claims that it's true.
Remember the Khmer obsession with skin color? Well, there's one Khmer reporter who is marginally darker than everyone else on staff. They jokingly call him Black Chicken. When I got walked through the newsroom on the day I arrived, he apparently turned to his coworkers and said, "Ah, I'm not the only Black Chicken anymore."
Hence, Black Chicken Number 2.
Wow.
Love,
BC2
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May 8th, 2005
07:29 pm - The Killing Fields
So after several weekends of shopping, temple-hopping and swilling cheap martinis, I made my way to the Killing Fields and Tuol Sleng Prison this weekend with my friend Jen. Gulp.
Crash course in Cambodian history:
Tuol Sleng is the former high school that the Khmer Rouge converted into a prison where anywhere from 14,000 to 17,000 intellectuals, "enemies of the state," political prisoners, men, women, children, babies, old people, teenagers--everyone the KR could get their hands on--were brought in and tortured. Of those, only 7 people survived. Seven.
Tuol Sleng, it seems, is in much the same condition that the Vietnamese found in when they took over the country in the 1980s, though they've cleaned up. A bit. I kept coming across suspicious red stains on the floors that I refused to speculate on the origins of. It's made all the more chilling by its mundane surroundings. It sits in the middle of a neighborhood, surrounded by trees, shops and guesthouses. It's hard to imagine anything so horrific happening there.
The grounds have several buildings: places where people were tortured, rooms divided into the tiniest cells known to man and rooms where people were chained together by their ankles. Many of the rooms have the original "furniture," instruments of torture and all. (To my Legal RPA compatriots, the KR make Chicago's Area 2 police officers look like amateurs.)
Comrade Duch is the KR leader who ran Tuol Sleng (He's still alive, but dying of prostate cancer, in police custody after hiding out for many years in the provinces as a teacher. I think it was a journalist who finally discovered him there. Just chillin.' He denies any wrongdoing, of course.) Duch kept meticulous records of the interrogations at the prison, complete with photos and biographies of pretty much everyone who came through. Many of the photos--of people before and after they were tortured--are on display. Many people who lost track of their relatives during the KR period discovered what happened to them after finding their pictures at Tuol Sleng. Seeing pictures of shell-shocked men and women who were probably my age at the time and whose crime was being born in the wrong place at the wrong time just made my stomach hurt.
The KR came to power in 1975 after winning a civil war against the president at the time, Lon Nol. While the KR started out by targeting former Lon Nol soldiers, they moved on to killing all of the educated people and their families, and anyone who even looked smart, including people with glasses. Those who were arrested and sent to Tuol Sleng were forced to write out detailed biographies. As they were tortured over several days, the biographies would change into "confessions" that reflected the particular paranoia of the KR at the time. Many ordinary people--including a couple Americans--were captured and "admitted" to being spies for the CIA or operatives from Vietnam.
After they were tortured, victims were driven about 15 kilometers outside of the city to The Killing Fields, or Choeng Ek. (I think I spelled that right...) The road there can't have changed much--it's bumpy, dusty and lined with grazing cows. There isn't really much to see there--there are an estimated 20,000 people buried there, and about 9,000 of them have been exhumed. Their skulls--SKULLS--are displayed on glass shelves on a giant tower in the middle of the grounds. For the low, low price of $3, Jen and I hired a guide, Sal, who walked us around and told us about the site's history. It was cool to hear about the KR period from an actual Cambodian, rather than from a Western journalist or historian.
Here's how savvy the kids are in Cambodia: There are kids begging Everywhere here. On the streets, at the temples, in restaurants. The same is true of the Killing Fields; there are several of them just milling around. At one point in the tour, we stopped at a big tree that the guide said had been used to kill children. The actual method is too gruesome to describe, but they found a mass grave full of over 100 tiny bodies right next to the tree. Heartbreaking. As the guide was telling us the story, there were suddenly a dozen beautiful children surrounding us with their hands out. How can you *not* give money to a lovely, blinking child standing under a tree that had been used to kill children? Smart.
I'm glad I went, of course, but I compared the whole experience to watching Schindler's List: you gotta do it, you're better for it, but you could never, never, never do it more than once. So anyone planning to visit me here in the next five weeks (hint, hint), you're on your own.
Now that I've enriched myself, next weekend's plan is to hit the beach in a town called Sihanoukville. (Named, I'm assuming, after King Sihanouk.)
Somberly,
Karen
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May 6th, 2005
01:56 pm - Phnom Penh's finest and Khmer for dummies
So I had my first run-in with the Phnom Penh po-lice yesterday. I actually found the whole thing really entertaining.
How it went down: I was driving to work, and a few cops blocking my lane gestured for me to pull my bike over. When I did, another officer started chatting me up. Why am I in Cambodia? How long will I be here? Whose bike was I riding? I told him I'm an intern here (but now where--sometimes the Daily name comes in handy and sometimes it doesn't), that the bike was rented and that I'm from America. Ah, America. His eyes not only lit up, I think if you replayed tape of that moment they'd have dollar signs in them as well. My offense: driving during the day with my lights on. Gasp. (I'd forgotten to turn them off from the night before. Silly me. I'm a regular menace to society.) While he eventually explained that he wouldn't fine me because I'm new to the country and not aware of all of its insanely random traffic laws, he said I should probably give him a little something anyway, because this is Cambodia, and that's how they do it. Wow. What can you say in the face of that kind of honesty? I gave him $2 and was on my way.
However: Apparently $2 was waaaaay too much. My editor-in-chief suggested that 2000 riel (50 cents) woulda been plenty. Ah well. I made some cop's day. Only later did I realize that $2 is how much cops here make in TWO DAYS. (They only make about $28 a month. No joke.)
Later in the day yet another officer tried to pull me over, but I did what the rest of my coworkers have taken to doing: I stared him down and whipped around him. Smart? Perhaps no. It's not like he won't remember me later. (Dude, it was that OTHER black American woman with crazy hair.) But I felt I'd already paid my corruption tax for the day. So there.
In other news: I've started taking Khmer lessons with Morivan, the girlfriend of a guy at the Daily. She's super sweet and patient and works with just about 80% of the expats in Phnom Penh. (I went to her housewarming party a few weeks back and keep running into the people I met there. This is such a small town.)
Ready? Impress your friends with these Khmer tidbits:
Joom reap sua = formal greeting, basically hello. As you say it, you press your palms together under your nose and bow.
Sua sdey = less formal greeting for people you've met more than once.
Sok sabaay = How are you?
Knom sok sabaay, aw kon = I'm fine, thanks.
Joh neak win = And you?
Aw kon = Thank you.
Aw kon charan = Thank you very much. (Also said with a bow.)
Excuse me = Som toh.
Som kut loy = Check please. (Does it show that I eat out for every meal?)
Tlai pon maan? = How much does that cost? (Um, does it show I'm a shopaholic?)
Lia howie = See you later.
Sorry I can't provide more pronunciation guidance. These things sound just as crazy as they look, but Khmer was never really meant to be written in English anyway, I guess.
Lia howie,
Karen
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May 2nd, 2005
07:11 pm - Beyond Thunderdome
Try to keep calm, everyone. What I'm about to say may alarm you. Just remember, I have relatively good health insurance. (To my global girls, one word, three letters: HTH.)
Drum roll please: I decided to rent a moto, officially becoming Part of the Problem. Yee haw.
What Problem? The lawless, teeming chaos that is the traffic in Phnom Penh. I've so far only driven when there isn't too much traffic, but I know I'm going to get stuck in a jam soon and freeeeeeeak out. It's been great not having to rely on motodops (the dudes who drive motos for money), though one of them looked so non-plussed (is that how you spell that?) to see me drive out of the house this morning I thought he was going to come after me. Yikes. Some of the Daily kids who have their own bikes still take a moto a few times a week to "support the local economy." Which I think really means, "to keep the motodops from knocking me off of my bike." I don't actually think they'd do anything, but it wasn't a nice way to start the day.
In other news, I spent Saturday afternoon at the Olympic Market, a decidedly non-Western affair. I think we saw 2 other expats the whole time. The adventure: As soon as I got off of my friend's bike, another friend and I got SWARMED by a mob of up to 20 Khmer men, all staring fixedly at my hair. It definitely ranks up there with the craziest things that have happened to me here. I took out my digital camera to capture their darling bewildered faces, and, of course, they scattered. Darn. The best part, though: As soon as I turned around to photograph them, the women who had been standing in front of me went for the hair, according to my friend Jen. Maybe I should get a scarf...
We spent most of our time at the market picking out fabric to have clothes made. Well, Jen and Laure did. I just watched. I still haven't shed my Western, "Wouldn't it be easier to just go to Old Navy?" filter. Oh wait, they don't have Old Navy in Cambodia. Dang. But the 3 of us did buy matching Lacoste shirts (with the alligator) that were "Made in Frande." Right. Apparently, tailoring is dirt cheap here, and you can take a tailor an article of clothing you like and they'll duplicate it in any kind of fabric you bring in. I'm still working up the nerve to do it.
Saturday night yielded an important travel tip I am thrilled to pass along: If you ever find yourself invited to a "Bling Bling" theme party being thrown by a bunch of Australians, DON'T GO. What Aussies know about bling I could fit in one of my pores. Oh, it hurt. Do tiaras even count as bling? Just wrong.
And somebody remind me why brining a kitten home in my luggage would be a bad idea... There are a bunch of strangely sleek cats that live outside the Daily house, and one of them has a litter of the cutest little furballs ever. I chased them around the driveway for a good 5 minutes last night until I remembered that more people die in Cambodia from rabies than from Dengue. (So says my co-worker Yvonne every time one of us coos at a puppy in the street.) Do cats carry rabies? Do I really want to find out the hard way?
Finally, an important note about last weekend's dinner at Pyongyang, the wacky North Korean place: My friends actually did karaoke after I left, and apparently their moving rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody" brought down the house. Thunderbolt and lightning/very, very frightening me.
Considering wearing my helmet, even indoors, just to be on the safe side,
Karen
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April 26th, 2005
07:07 pm - Grope discounts available!
A security guard at work handed me a business card this morning advertising Khmer language lessons for expats; on the back was the priceless sentence above.
To think I've been paying full price for groping all of this time.
When we'd recovered from laughing, my coworker Lee pointed out that the guy is teaching Khmer, so it shouldn't matter so much if his English is less than perfect.
Uh-huh.
It's been about 100 degrees here the last two days, and the heat/humidity is making people kinda feisty. The group of moto drivers outside of the office all fake-cried in unison yesterday when I turned down a ride. Nutty.
Sweatily,
Karen
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April 25th, 2005
07:35 pm - The best little newsroom in Cambodia
Today's fun fact: The offices currently occupied by the Cambodia Daily used to be a brothel. According to the editor-in-chief, Kevin, he was working late about 8 months ago and heard a commotion in the hallway. He walked out to find a few giggling Japanese businessmen, who looked at him, looked around and said, "Where are the girls?"
Like my classmate Sara Michael www.saraglobal.blogspot.com, I, too, have found the prostitutes. Unfortunately, they aren't that hard to find. For reasons no one seems to know, they call them "taxi girls." Or "taxi boys." Last week at my favorite gay bar (OK, the only gay bar I've been to), there was an adorable young man standing with a not-so-adorable expat, and the boy's shirt said, "No Money, No Honey." Oh, wow. I guess if you're here long enough you get used to the "sexpat" phenomenon, but it still creeps me out.
(Sexpat: A foreigner clearly in Phnom Penh to take advantage of its thriving sex trade. When I can write about it without becoming completely livid I'll talk about the pedophiles. I'm actually hoping that day never comes...)
Does anyone out there who's lived here know the origin of "taxi girl"?
Your favorite working girl,
Karen
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April 24th, 2005
04:27 am - Jackie Chan, shopping Russians, singing Communist waitresses, and a pub crawl
That pretty much sums up my madcap weekend in a nutshell.
On Friday: I worked on my day off so I could go to a press conference with Jackie Chan. Jackie Chan! He's absolutely adorable and seemed very sweet. He was in Cambodia as a goodwill ambassador for Unicef to talk about HIV/AIDS and landmines. He wants to film a movie in Cambodia in the next year to highlight the plight of landmine victims, especially children. Landmines. There's an uplifting story. But he seemed very sincere. And short.
On Saturday: I spent the sweatiest hour of my life at the Russian Market, the most touristy market in the city. Yes, I will be lugging my purchases back to Chicago in a mammoth "Louis Vutton" bag the size of a small island. No, there aren't actually any Russians there. Why the potential heatstroke was worth it: I got a CD, a new pair of "Birkenstocks" and 2 double AA batteries for $10. Again, we have much to learn from the Cambodian people.
Saturday night I had dinner at a North Korean restaurant/karaoke bar named Pyongyang. Every 10 minutes or so, the waitstaff--a band of nearly identical young North Korean women--would either sing, perform these crazy, very regimented but strangely graceful dances, or play instruments like the keyboard or the violin. And me without my camera. We left shortly before a Paul Anka song but just after Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." Ouch. It was surreal. But the food was fabulous.
After dinner came the expat scavenger-hunt cyclo-powered pub crawl. Say that 3 times fast.
Long story short: Dozens of expats from all over the place met up at a bar in teams of two (my partner was a French woman named Helene who is a friend of a friend. Lucky for me, she's much smarter and holds her liquor much better. But I get ahead of myself.). We were each given a team number and a clue that directed us to the next bar. The transportation for this adventure: Our very own cyclo. (Cyclos are something like ricksaws, except that the perilously narrow seats are pushed by a bicycle-like contraption rather than pulled. Again, me without my camera.) At each bar, we had to perform certain tasks to get our next clue. We were also expected to buy at least one drink at each place. Five bars, many cheap beers and a Suzy Wong later, we arrived back at the first place to get laughed at by the tons of people who beat us by hours. (In our defense, our cyclo driver spoke even less English than I speak Khmer, if that's possible. Helene and I would triumphantly tell him the name of the next bar, and he'd chuckle at us. How do you say "nowhere fast" in Khmer?)
One of these days I do plan to see some of the cultural sights in Phnom Penh, I swear. But first things first. Martinis, pastries, shoe shopping. Now, I'm ready.
Covering all of the bases,
Karen
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April 21st, 2005
01:09 am - Uh-oh. I've found the pastries.
It was just a matter of time, I suppose.
The French colonialists left many things behind when they got booted out of the country in the 1950s, and one of them is a legacy of pastries. I had heard that there were good French bakeries here, and I've now managed to go to TWO of them in less than 24 hours. I see a lot of elastic waistbands in my future.
The first one isn't a bakery, per se, it's a really cool organic expat restaurant with a 3rd-floor terrace and a wide selection of crepes. Oh, the crepes. It wasn't exactly like Paris, of course, but close enough that I think I went catatonic for a few seconds. Laure may never hang out with me again.
The second one is a bakery proper, and it's a 2-minute walk from my office. I looked up from my desk this morning to find a coworker with a chocolate croissant hanging out of his mouth, and I almost tackled him for it. Did I mention the heat is making me a little testy?
I've gotten my first assignment, of sorts, outside of the city to go to Siem Riep, which is the province that houses Angkor Wat. It's a 1-hour flight, 4-hour ferry ride or 8-hour sketched-out bus ride from Phnom Penh. Angkor Wat is the massive, sprawling, incredibly intricate temple complex that Cambodians love so much they put it on their flag. It's one of the only historic temples that the Khmer Rouge didn't destroy, though I've heard that looters now routinely make off with stones from there and sell them to expats. Such bad karma.
Happy tartlets,
Karen
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April 20th, 2005
01:13 pm - This week's grim anniversary
On April 17, 1975 (such a good year otherwise), the Khmer Rouge took over the city of Phnom Penh, forcing all residents into the countryside, obstensibly to protect them from an impending U.S. attack. The truth: Everyone was forced into agricultural slavery to fulfill the KR's vision of Cambodia as an "agrarian Communist paradise."
The Khmer Rouge were in power for just under 4 years, and they are responsible for the deaths of anywhere from 1 million to 3 million people through executions, disease and starvation. The paper I work for, the Cambodia Daily, has been running a series of first-person accounts of that time, and it's jarring to realize what anyone here over the age of 30 lived through. Pretty much everyone here lost family members--or limbs--to the Khmer Rouge.
(Khmer is the name of both the language spoken here and the people; Khmer Rouge means Red--or Communist--Khmer.)
As for the people--both men and women--responsible for the deaths and torture of so many, I think a whopping ONE of them is currently in prison. The rest are living comfortably in the provinces outside of the city or still hold positions in government--no joke. The government and the United Nations have plans to hold a tribunal this year for 6-8 former Khmer Rouge leaders to bring them to justice, but pretty much no one here thinks it will actually happen. The tribunal is expected to cost upwards of $40 million, and countries all over the world have pitched in. Except, you guessed it, the U.S. I read the details of why but got so angry I can't remember them all.
I saw on CNN that this is also the anniversary week of the Oklahoma City bombing. The juxtaposition of the two events has been very humbling, to say the least.
I guess I'm writing all of this to put into context how schizophrenic the expat existence is here. I'm living in what feels like a plantation house, I've gotten to free-wheel around the countryside on a motorbike, I've had whole meals that cost me $1, and at the same time, I'm acutely aware of the millions of things that are wrong here.
Dude, what a downer.
Here are some other random facts about Cambodia (I'm not even gonna pretend I knew any of this before I knew I was coming here): Population: 13.8 million
Number of undetonated landmines: 6-8 million (but all in the remote countryside I have no intention of wandering into)
Human population of capital city Phnom Penh: 1.1 million
Lizard population of Phnom Penh: 2.2 million (totally a guess. They're actually cute little geckos. One of them likes to hang out in my bathroom soap dish.)
Mosquito population of Phnom Penh: What's the next number up from a gazillion?
Cambodia's form of government is the infinitely baffling "constitutional monarchy." They have two kings: one retired, Sihanouk, and one currently on the throne, his son Sihamoni (a handsome 50-ish bachelor who used to lead up his own ballet company. You do the math.) There is also a Prime Minister, Hun Sen, who defected from the Khmer Rouge in the late '70s, and a parliament. There are two main parties that share power, the Cambodian Peoples Party and FUNCINPEC, which is a funky acronym for a French phrase that escapes me.
You'll thank me for all of this info the next time you play Trivial Pursuit...
Karen
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April 18th, 2005
06:37 am - I am officially a bad-ass!
I learned to drive a moto! Two wheels good, four wheels bad!
The story: My expat friend Laure (pronounced "Lor;" The French are weird like that.) and her friend Jen and I rented scooters yesterday and drove about an hour outside of the city to a place called Oudong that has a hilltop complex of historic Buddhist temples. Many of the temples are under renovation because a) they got bombed by the U.S. in the 1970s (Oops. Was that your temple? My bad.) and b) they got shot up by the Khmer Rouge. Nothing like seeing a bullet-riddled temple to put things in perspective.
Highlights:
--Being force-fed lunch by a jubilant mob of monks and nuns at the first place we stopped. They actually grabbed us and plunked us down to eat, bringing dish after dish of rice and fruit and unidentifiable vegetable dishes. The food was great, and the nuns stood around and watched us eat, grinning the whole time. As did pretty much everyone else in the vicinity, including about 12 kids and a bunch of monks. We took about 1,000 pictures (none of which survived the day--a moment of silence, please), and at one point the nun ringleader snatched the camera away and gestured very pointedly to our plates and then our mouths. Apparently someone in the world thinks I need to eat more. I heart nuns.
--Stopping at a little stand on the way home to sit in hammocks, only to get to watch Laure play "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman." She had been to the temples and the restaurant the day before, and a waitress she'd met was there in baaaad shape. The woman had been in a moto accident (NO!), and she had one red, swollen eye, and scrapes and cuts all the way down one side. Laure looked at her, exclaimed, "I've got my first aid kit!" and proceeded to patch her up with this tiny bag of goodies. The whole restaurant watched, most of them wincing along with the woman as she got her cuts cleaned....I think you know what comes next...Everyone in the place with any kind of small injury eventually wandered over to us. A cut scalp, a bruised foot, hopelessly swollen fingers. (Did I mention that Laure has as much medical training as I do? Note: If you want to be a doctor in Cambodia, get yourself a $5 first aid kit from Costco and come on over. They could use you.) The best/most heart-breaking part: The woman with acne who wanted to know what could be done. Um. (Note: Make sure that first-aid kit has Clearasil.)
--Making it back to Phnom Penh in one piece. Driving a scooter is actually embarassingly easy, and I'm considering renting one for the rest of my internship. No problem. Except for the lack of traffic laws, the corrupt cops who love to shake down "barang" (foreigners) for no good reason, and the fact that Cambodians drive like they're in some kind of Mad Max movie. Maybe I should get body armor.
One more thing about Khmer New Year, which is apparently never-ending: It's a tradition to throw water and baby powder on people and scream, "Happy Khmer New Year!". Don't even ask me what it all means. I've gotten hit once (so far) with powder by a group of kids completely blocking the street so they could attack everyone who came by. I suspect I haven't gotten hit more because people are too busy staring to attack. I could be a hypnotist...
And 'member what I said about the city emptying out? No dice. Either they came back or were hiding, because the streets today are crazy.
Wish me a powder-less night,
Karen
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April 14th, 2005
05:27 pm - Happy Khmer New Year!
Today begins the Year of the Rooster, according to the Khmer calendar, which is very similar to the Chinese horoscope calendar, I think. Cambodia reportedly has more national holidays than any country in the world. I don't know if it's true, but they do have a lot. Like 25. In fact, this is their 3rd New Year's celebration this year, including Chinese New Year and the Western one. We have much to learn from the Cambodian people.
In short, it's meant a pretty chill first week for me at work. And my week started a day late because I got my first case of Pol Pot's revenge on Sunday. OK, they don't really call it that, but I'm going to. It was not pretty. But I got it out of the way early. I'm an overachiever like that.
Khmer New Year also means that the city is slowly emptying of people as folks go home to their families in the provinces outside Phnom Penh. If you came here now you'd think only expats lived here because we're the only ones left.
This has been such a crazy week I don't know where to start.
I know, I'll start with the staring.
Oh, the staring.
Open-mouthed, wide-eyed staring. Tap your friends to make sure they see, too, staring. Point and continue pointing staring. Almost crash your motorbike because you can't stop staring, staring.
People, let me tell you, you have never been truly stared at until you've been a black woman with dreadlocks in Cambodia.
I am getting used to it, but it's a little unnerving, to say the least. The first day it was amusing. Then a little irritating. Now I have to fight the urge to stare and point back. But the heat is making me a little cranky.
The natural progression from staring, of course, is touching. Specifically touching the hair. I kept joking before I came here that people would be touching my hair all the time, but it's so not a joke.
At a restaurant last weekend, one of the waitresses got up the nerve to tentatively touch the bun I had piled on the top of my head. When the other staff saw that I just smiled at her encouragingly, they totally swarmed me. I eventually had 4 young women patting my head and chattering to each other in Khmer. One of my coworkers assured me that they were saying that they think it's pretty, but they could have been planning how best to cook me for all I know. I really need to learn the language.
I'm having a great time so far, staring and invasions of space aside. I haven't been able to get to an internet cafe as much as I'd hoped, hence the lack of updates this week. And there's just so much to say.
I'll leave you with this fun fact about "Whitening" products here.
Apparently, like so many colonized cultures around the world, in Cambodia, light skin good, dark skin bad. They're obsessed with not getting dark (good luck, it's 95 degrees and extremely sunny every single day). At the grocery store yesterday, I kept coming across shower gels that had "Whitening" formulas. "Whitening shower gel?" Surely that can't mean what I think it means. Oh, but it do. You can also buy whitening body lotion, whitening hand cream, whitening moisturizer--you name it. In fact, it's a little hard to find lotions and soaps that aren't whitening.
I've stopped even buying whitening toothpaste in protest...
I'm off to indulge in my new favorite hobby: scratching my mosquito bites. I'm at 12 and counting.
Love,
Karen
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April 8th, 2005
08:30 pm - Britney Spears, Suzy Wong and Scarlett O'Hara
What do these 3 ladies have in common?
Britney: The first song I danced to my first nite out in Phnom Penh (a scant 3 hours after landing): My Prerogative, by Britney. The Cambodians love them some Britney. And Madonna. Huh?
Suzy Wong: The name of the life-changing watermelon martini I had last night. The Cambodians love them some vodka.
Scarlett: Who I feel like living in the Cambodia Daily's housing. The house is big and strangely plantation-like. I have a large bedroom with a big bathroom and an outrageously large bed, and there are several common areas where the staff hangs out, plays pool and takes Khmer language lessons.
In less than 24 hours, someone has made me breakfast (which I was too jetlagged to eat. Dang.) and done all of my laundry. A sweet woman named Chantal has tried to force-feed me coca-cola and rice, and she seems infinitely baffled and dismayed when I turn down her offers to make me dinner. I fully expect to be making a dress outta my curtains any day now.
The Cambodia Daily staff has been incredibly good to me so far, as has a fellow half French/half American expat named Laure, who carted my ever-growing behind around all day today on her motorcycle. She helped me procure a helmet (the best that $15 can buy), and a card for my phone. Expats rock!
Phnom Penh is pretty indescribable. It was 96 degrees here when I landed at about 7 last nite, and the humidity has a mind of its own. I went to an expat hangout earlier that had a pool--tempting, until I saw the owner's labrador take a dip. "Maybe that's why the water is so murky," Laure mused. Wow.
I don't start work until Sunday, so I have a few days to get my bearings and face my fear of the moto. I've taken a bunch of rides so far without incident, and I'm getting more used to them. Kinda.
I will hopefully be able to send pictures soon; my camera function doesn't seem to like SE Asia much, but I'm working on it. Some of this needs to be seen to be believed...
Cheers,
Karen
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