Dreams and Reflections

            When I was a kid, I used to have this recurring dream where I was all alone in the middle of a vast field with tall grass that nearly came up to my shoulders. It was never lonely though. On the contrary, it was freeing and peaceful. In the dream, I would run through the field with my arms stretched out like an airplane. The bottoms of my arms and my hands would graze the soft tips of the golden grass. Then I would lay down in the tall grass with my hands behind my head, where no one could see me, even if there was someone in the field with me. Sometimes there was a tree that I would be under, but usually not. Just me and the breeze and the tall sweet smelling grass.

            I used to love having this dream, partially because it was so peaceful, and partially because I was so curious about the idea that I could have the same dream more than once. I had it many, many times, rarely ever changing. Only once was there ever anybody who came with me in the dream: a boyfriend from the time. It was my secret place and it was mine alone. As I got older, I had the dream less and less often, and now, I admit, it has been a few years since I’ve had the dream. However, I have always been on the lookout for real places that look like my dream. Any time I saw a wheat field or corn field in America, I would be reminded of my secret dream place.

            Maybe you can tell where I’m going with this.

            Rice fields.

            I can’t help but notice a correlation between my dream and where I am now, in more ways than just the obvious appearances. The rice fields, right before harvest time, are that perfect color of green and gold (GO POST hahaha) The stalks stretch to just the perfect height. And in certain special places, that is all you can see for miles. Even the tree thing holds true. Despite my province’s name literally meaning “forest,” there are very few trees around. So sometimes you’ll see a tree. Usually not.

            The rice fields have also become a place of solace and comfort for me. When I need a break and I need some fresh air, that’s where I go. When I first got to site, I used to go there every day. Now I go a lot less often. Unfortunately this is mostly because the fields have been harvested already, and there are more mud squares than rice fields now. But come rainy season, I know I’ll be back quite a lot.

            There is a road that stretches through the middle of the field. It’s a big dirt road, and does get some traffic, but not nearly enough to make you feel congested like in the rest of town. Different from my dream, I do not actually run through the grass, because that would be a very muddy experience and I would probably come away with leeches. But still, the similarities are more than the differences.

            While on that road, I would say that 90% of the time, I am completely alone, and I can’t see another soul in site. And once again, I am reminded of the difference between being alone and being lonely. Loneliness is not what happens when I’m out there breathing it all in and reflecting. Loneliness is what happens when loved ones stop reaching out to you. Or when I try to reach out and no one receives it. Loneliness is waiting for others to be lonely enough to remember you. That happens while staring at a blank computer screen, a still cell phone, and an inactive facebook page, never out in the rice fields.

            Loneliness aside, Peace Corps is a very “alone” experience. It is also obviously a community experience. But at some point during it all, you’re going to have the time and the space to unload everything that you are, and reload it back, accepting what you’ve discovered. At least, hopefully you’ll be strong enough to accept it. Me? I unload it in the rice fields. And as I reload it, I like to think a bit of the tranquility of the surroundings rubs off on me, and I’m a better person for it.

                        I realize that my “secret” place isn’t so secret. Motos and bicycles go by, Heck, farmers work in these fields sometimes. But if we’re being symbolic here, and if the rice fields represent my experience, then that is indeed, my secret place and it is mine alone. Because I know, no matter how much I clue in my family, friends, and even other Peace Corps Volunteers, no one REALLY knows what it’s like to be here.

            I don’t think I’m the kind of person who believes in dreams predicting my future. Sure it happened in biblical times, but I hardly think my tall grass dream was a premonition of my Peace Corps experience. Rather, it’s more like a fact taped to my brain encouraging me to appreciate beauty, serenity, and solitude- now, and for the rest of my life.

These are some pictures from a Bon i went to a few months ago.

A Bon is a Buddhist Festival.

This particular Bon was for giving the monks new robes.

My two sisters and I walked in the procession together, carrying incense.

Left to right: Sokhen, Sovanna, me.

monks.

A PCV's Worst Nightmare

            Well, maybe not their WORST nightmare, but it’s up there, because realistically many volunteers DO experience this at some time during their service. I’m talking about food poisoning, parasites, stomach bacteria, and any and all related topics. The kind where you actually debate just curling up on the ground in the bathroom facility, because you can barely muster up the energy to walk somewhere else, and also because it’s pointless- you’ll be back in 10 minutes for more action.

            Although the past few days were among the most miserable of my life, I came away from it completely astounded and humbled by the care that my host family gave me.

            Sunday night, I barely slept, because all of a sudden I got SO COLD (mind you it is the beginning of the hottest season in Cambodia). I tried to just curl up under my sheet with my stuffed Nemo. No good, I finally got up at around 3AM and put on over my pajamas some sweatpants, a t-shirt, and the heaviest sweatshirt I brought here. Then I snuggled up again, but still had no luck. I knew there was a fever involved.

            Monday morning I started feeling so nauseous, dizzy, and weak. I actually still got up and tried to go teach. I hadn’t seen my students in over a week because of testing and I had been so anxious to go back to teaching. On my way out my sister saw me and asked what was wrong. I told her I wasn’t feeling well. She told me not to go to school. I told her I really want to go, so if I can’t do it, I will come back early.

            I went to school and couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand for more than a minute at a time, and I was actually concerned I was gonna vomit or pass out in front of my students. I was back at home in less than 45 minutes, where I went straight upstairs, changed, got sick, and then went back to bed. Every muscle and bone in my body was aching. I called the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO), who of course was less than interested at first.

            I went downstairs around 11 with a packet of instant oatmeal, thinking that was a safe lunch. My sister sat me down and cooked it for me.

            After lunch is when it really started getting out of hand. I was in the bathroom at least twice every hour. The oatmeal came right back up. It completely drained me. I called my parents in America, 3 times, even though it was the middle of the night there. Finally they called me back and I cried to my mother. I couldn’t even drink water at this point, because I would just throw it right back up. After I let my mother go back to bed, I called the PCMO again to basically say.. no this is different. I’m REALLY sick. So she did take more notice, and then called me about every 2 hours after that to check in.

            Soon after that, my sister let herself into my room. She NEVER does that. She completely respects my privacy. But she was so worried. She found me draped over my chair looking god-awful. She ran through a list of everything she could possibly cook for me, because I had eaten nothing except the oatmeal, and obviously that wasn’t REALLY eaten. Finally I agreed to let her cook me ramen noodles. I took a few sips of the broth, and vomited again. I slept in a hammock for a while, getting up every 2 minutes to run to the bathroom. My adult students started showing up for their 6PM class. My sister told every one of them that I couldn’t teach because I was so sick with diarrhea. Thanks sister lol.

            Upstairs again in bed, I started watching a movie. The PCMO called again and told me to try drinking water again, this time with some rehydration salts. She was concerned that I hadn’t peed once all day. She would call back in an hour and a half. I drank about half a water bottle worth of that, and then, of course… had to run to the bathroom and it came right back up.

            My sister knocked on the door and said “Diana…. Are you vomiting?” haha I wanted to say “no, I’m baking a cake.. DUH I’m vomiting, what does it sound like?”
            When I finally emerged from the bathroom, my brother had set up a mattress for me in the living room, so I can sleep closer to the bathroom. All day, my brother and sister were offering to give me medicine, buy me medicine, take me to the hospital, anything! But I had to tell them no, Peace Corps must say it’s okay first. They were so angry with Peace Corps lol.

            I laid down on the mattress my brother set up and my sister laid next to me. She tried to set up a fan on me, but I told her I was cold. After remarking about how crazy that was, she moved the fan, got me a thick blanket, draped it over me, and tucked my nemo under my arm.

            The PCMO finally was like.. okay you need treatment now. Not going to lie, I was re really worried about how I was going to make it through the night. I was so weak and uncomfortable. She told me she was going to have a Khmer Medical Officer call my host family, and ask that they try to find me a doctor to give me an IV and some medicine to ease my stomach. My sister watched me the whole time I was on the phone. She was watching so closely, she even spotted and picked a couple ants off my arm for me.

            By now it’s 9:30PM- past everyone’s bedtime. Luckily, my brother-in-law, who lives on our compound, but in a separate little building, works in the local health center. He started living here about 2 or 3 months ago during the week, and then going to Phnom Penh on weekends to see his wife and 2 kids. I really like him. He is one of the most genuine, stand-up Khmer guys I know. The two of us eat lunch together every day. Anyway, my brother told my brother-in-law that Peace Corps finally okayed some medicine, so he hopped in his car, and went to the Health Center to get some stuff.

            He came back, and asked me a few questions. He set me up with the IV like a pro. He then sat next to my bed for about a half hour, just watching over me and making sure it was working properly. He called Peace Corps, and I heard him talking about the other injection to settle my stomach. He decided not to give it to me because of the side effects. I trust him. He’s a really smart guy. I was too weak and delirious to argue anyway. Then he went back to his home.

            My sister and I fell asleep, but my brother stayed up til 12:30AM, time enough for him to change the IV fluid twice. Then he laid down next to his wife and went to sleep also. That’s when I realized that they really aren’t going to bed. Their full intention was to keep watch over me all night. I was amazed. They kept a light on so I could see my way to the bathroom, and so they could keep an eye on me. I don’t know what I did to deserve their care. I don’t know why they care so much. But I just realized how incredibly lucky I am to have these two sleepy people looking out for me here in Cambodia and I love them so much.

            In the night, at around 2:30 I got up to go be sick again, so I had to lug the IV into the bathroom with me. I guess my wrist was higher than the bottle for too long and my blood started going up the tube. I ended up clogging the tube with my blood. Woops. So my brother got up and tried to fix it, and when he couldn’t, he took it out for me.
            Every time I got up to use the bathroom, they would watch me leave, and watch me return, obviously trying to scan my face for any signs of imminent death.

            Finally, it was morning. The worst 24 hours ever was over. I was hydrated, and feeling slightly stronger. To make an already too long story shorter, I was indeed on the road to recovery. By Tuesday night, the PCMO finally told me I could start taking the antibiotics in our medical kit to help my weak body fight this. My sister helped like a pro with meals- starting me out with just a few spoonfuls of plain rice porridge, until I was back eating real food 2 days later.

            I am incredibly grateful for how my brother and sister and my brother-in-law really stepped in. We definitely had some real moments through it. They are really like family to me, and I to them.

            Oh I forgot one more thing. Tuesday, Valentines Day, my sister told me at the dinner table that they had plans to go to a restaurant the 3 of us for dinner (which is a really special thing). But they weren’t going because I was sick. I was like.. that’s ridiculous, GO it’s Valentines Day, a day for TWO people, not THREE. They said no, they weren’t going without me. Oh yeah haha, I forgot I was a part of the relationship. Weird lol. Hopefully now that I’m recovered I can bring up the possibility of a raincheck.

            I will wrap this up now.

            Don’t worry, I don’t have any pictures from me being sick.

            But I do have these:

One of the times I woke up to find a giant dying cockroach on my floor. Now I'm more used to it, but it took me a full 20 minutes to get up the courage to pick him up and throw him out to live out his last minutes elsewhere.

I was watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone on my computer lying in a hammock. My neighbor Mikey whatched about 45 minutes of it standing next to the hammock. He abruptly left, and then came back 5 minutes later riding a broomstick. <3

The most beautiful tissue holder I've ever seen. This is in the lobby of Navy guest house in Prey Veng.

PIG! at a wat in Prey Veng.

The sun setting over the lake. In Prey Veng.

Navy Guest House. In Prey Veng. 

Cheater Cheater Prahok Eater

            In light of this week’s semester exams (the Khmer version of midterms) I’ll tell you a little bit about testing in Cambodia. Cheating is an inherent part of any student’s test taking. Cheating is not something that Cambodian teachers waste their times trying to control.

            Tests are not an individual quest as they are in America. At the very least, they are partner missions, if not more. A classroom taking a test is not silent. At any given moment, there will be one student whining to the teacher about how hard the test is, and at least 4 or 5 students flat out having a conversation about the questions and answers. Students in the upper grades sit at 2 person desks. So those students will be cuddled together, working on their tests together. (yes, I really mean CUDDLED together). Sometimes one student will write an answer, and just give their test paper to their friend to copy.  Other times, they will just discuss what they should put.

            The above description is actually a test taken in MY classroom. Meaning, I control the cheating a lot more than Khmer teachers. In their classes, it is even more allowed. Students in the back of the room will ask the smartest kid in the class “what’s the answer to number four” way from the back of the room. And that smart kid will shout the answer back, or even just pass around their paper to copy. Other students will just have their textbooks and notebooks open, trying to find the answers within. Some students will even just skip asking the students, and will ask the teacher for the answer, or at least a hint.

            When I am proctoring an exam, you will hear a constant stream of words like “don’t help, don’t cry, and don’t crow like a rooster” coming from my mouth. Mostly I use those because I always forget the Khmer word for ‘cheat.’

            My students now know that I will not allow them to cheat, so they are sort of learning to be sneakier about it (which before was not the case). Once I walked past a student who was copying answers from a sheet of paper. I assumed it was his notes from a previous lesson, so I gave him the stink eye and he sheepishly put it under his desk. I walked by him again a minute later when he wasn’t paying attention and it was out again. I took it, and realized that it was an answer sheet that a student in another one of my classes gave him. I was so shocked! And slightly impressed. He would have been in so much trouble if he was in America. But he’s not in America, and the only thing I can do is laugh it off.

            There are some volunteers who have successfully stamped out cheating from their classrooms. They have employed American techniques such as “for every time you are caught talking or cheating, that is one point off your grade.” I thought about doing that, but I decided against it. I feel it would be wasting my energy in that I would be the only teacher in the whole school enforcing a no cheating rule. That’s not going to accomplish anything except giving me a headache. So during testing, I control what I can, and I admit to letting some things slide.

            Midterms are taking place over the course of 3 days this week. Monday-Wednesday. Today is Wednesday. I am not involved in the midterms. All teachers are called to proctor the exams, but I have been excused of this responsibility. Cheating is going to be happening in these tests. Cheating even happens during national exams. Imagine students sharing answers out loud during an SAT in America. Well that’s what happens here. And in Cambodia, a student’s academic future relies ENTIRELY on the results of the national exam. A good grade will get the student a spot in a university, and possibly even a scholarship. But honestly if you think about it, if every single student in Cambodia is cheating, isn’t that less unfair than if only some are? My point is, if I were to get myself involved in big exams like these, I would want to control the cheating. However, that might be hurting my students’ chances in getting into university. So in conclusion, I have no problem proctoring the monthly exams that I make, but I think bigger tests are a part of Cambodian education I should steer clear from. At least for now.

            In other news, it’s been a rough couple of days, mixed in with moments of success and excitement. Things at site are mostly wonderful. Things are coming along nicely. The things that get me through day to day are the people here at site. My family. My sister. My brother. My students. Even my co-teachers. Among these people are my best friends. They don’t even know it, but they’ve been here for me in a time where I’ve lost a little bit of faith in friendship.

A gift from my older sister. Khmer people wear pajamas all the time. I'm all about that. But this particular pair... is not my favorite.

Water buffalo

and farmers kids

farmers house in the rice paddies. This is on my favorite road near my house that I used to run on.

rice as far as the eye can see

riding the buffalo back home

my special road.

An American Celebrating a Chinese Holiday in Cambodia

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Good luck in this, the year of the DRAGON! Grrrrr!

Yeah this past weekend was Chinese New Year. Cambodia has a pretty big population of people who come from Chinese descent, so although the Khmer Government does not observe Chinese New Year as a national holiday, many people do celebrate in some form or another.

I knew something was up when I came home from Ba Phnom on Saturday night. There was a chicken seller at our house. She was holding the live chickens upside down by their feet, and discussing the price with my oldest sister. She bought two chickens and put them under a little bamboo cage for the night. I said “alright, so what are the chickens for?” My sister said “Chinese New Year!”

The next morning I didn’t leave my room until like 8:30 (pretty darn late). When I did leave my room, I saw that my oldest brother, Borun, was setting up a rice mat on our living room floor, while my oldest sister was decoratively organizing plates of fruit. So I plopped myself down to watch the action.

One by one my family brought different foods and drinks to place on the mat on the floor. My sisters got up super early to do all this cooking. There was a Chinese soup, Chinese noodles, fruits, muffins, rice, cakes, and the 2 chickens bought the night before- roasted whole (head and legs still intact). There was also beer, some soda, a little vodka, and some juice.

Then it was time to pray. My sister (who I believe has some Chinese in her blood) was directing the show. Everyone had to take their turn praying at the rice mat 3 times. The food and drink was being offered to the families’ dead ancestors. There were 6 cans placed on the edge of the mat, each one representing a different relative.  Behind each can were 2 glasses. To pray, you must sit with your legs to the side, and your hands in a prayer position in front of your face. Between your hands are sticks of burning incense- one for each can. You pray out loud for those family members. When you are done, you stick the incense in the cans, and then pour a little vodka and beer in each glass.

My family also spent some time praying and offering food and incense to the “Buddhist house,” or little shrine that is in every Cambodian’s home. That is where I heard my sisters praying for me, which was sweet. They prayed for my luck, health, and happiness, and that I would always have delicious food to eat.

I did not burn incense this time. I was just an observer this time around.

After everyone had prayed three times, we took “paper goods” outside to burn for our ancestors. And I quite literally mean paper goods. For my sister’s grandfather, we burned a paper shirt, a paper box of cigarettes, a paper razor, paper sandals, paper glasses, etc. For her grandmother we burned paper gold and jewelry. For everyone we burned more paper gold and paper 100 dollar bills. I guess the idea is that this stuff goes to the spirits of our ancestors while they are waiting to be reincarnated.

Finally, after the burning party, reminiscent of a teenage girl’s boyfriend gift burning party, we took some of the food out to the porch outside and feasted! We moved all the chairs to the side, sat on the floor, and filled out bellies. The Chinese soup and noodles were particularly delicious. The men finished their meals and left quickly, I don’t why. So it was just the three ladies. My oldest sister pulls out the beer and goes “alright, we’re getting drunk.” I was like- fantastic, it’s not even noon yet. She handed each of us a beer and told us to drink it as fast as we could.

I lost. Third place out of three. Which is actually impressive, because I know for a fact that I have a higher tolerance than both of them. But I just couldn’t “bottom’s up” like they were doing haha. So yeah, we sat around for a few minutes, drunk, and then- my sister declared nap time! What else would you want to do after downing a beer?

I actually napped! I ignored my sweating pores and managed to get a few minutes of real napping! I very rarely can nap during the day in Cambodia.

The rest of the day was spent just sitting around doing nothing. For dinner, leftovers.

Chinese New Year is a 3 day holiday. Chinese-Khmer students and teachers took off from school (without permission). About ¼ of my students were absent in each class. That is actually a lot better than I thought it would be. I thought no one would come. Well, I am not Chinese, so although it was still Chinese New Year, I went to go teach whichever students were dedicated enough to show up.

I came home for lunch. Leftovers. Again. And let me remind you- there are no refrigerators in Cambodia. That is when my sister told me more about the customs of Chinese New Year. Apparently, for three days you’re not allowed to do ANY work. That explains why the chairs were never put back upstairs, and the empty beer and soda cans were still strewn all over the floor. You are not allowed to clean the house, do the laundry, cook, or even wash the dishes. When she said that, I instantly looked down at the plate I was eating off of- that I ate off yesterday- and would have to eat off of the next 2 days.

Unfortunately, I was at a really desperate point with my laundry. Washing my clothes that day was essential. My sisters were a little upset that I was doing laundry, but I told them it was really unavoidable. Then, when I was bringing my soap and hamper to my room, I accidentally spilled laundry detergent on my floor in my room. Being a poor and crafty Peace Corps volunteer, I decided that meant I had to scrub my floor, so as not to waste the soap. You can wash floors with powdered laundry soap, right? Well, it was something that also needed to be done. But once again my sisters commented on my non-chinese-ness.

Eventually, my sister also broke the Chinese-no-working rule. My brother (her husband) said that he was afraid that if I eat that Chinese soup every day for the full three day, I would die. He didn’t want to kill his foreigner, so he had his wife cook me some new food by the third day.

            A part of me actually wonders if my sisters made up the no-working rule. I feel that’s likely, but that’s totally fine. They deserved the break more than anyone.

Turn Right at the Banyon Tree

Last weekend, I had quite the adventure. I went to the one place in my entire province that the Cambodian Ministry of Tourism says is worth visiting- Ba Phnom. My province, Prey Veng is kind of like the arm pit of Cambodia. I’ve noticed that Peace Corps volunteers like to compete with the places they live. The people who live in awesome places brag about it. “My site is the best because I have ice cream, shakes, a roller skating rink, the beach, cheese, a mountain, etc.” Volunteers who don’t have obvious exciting things like that still compete, but the other way around. “My site is the worst, or the most hard core. I have a dirt road. No one speaks English. Etc” When I am involved in these conversations, I like to listen to why people think their sites are so small and forgotten. Then I remind them that I live in Prey Veng Province.

Prey Veng is the only province that the Lonely Planet just flat out says “There is nothing to see in Prey Veng. Just go straight on through to Phnom Penh.”

The first year or two, Peace Corps put a few volunteers in Prey Veng province. Every single one of them ETed (Early Terminated). So Peace Corps stopped putting volunteers there until this year. No one has ETed, but with only 4 volunteers, we are still the smallest province.

Now don’t get the wrong idea. I LOVE my province and I love my site, and even if I was given the opportunity to change sites, I wouldn’t.

So anyway, I had been wanting to see Ba Phnom for a while now. I knew very little about it, other than there was a mountain, some sort of special pagoda, and some ruins that are 500 years older than Angkor Wat. So when my friend who is stationed in Prey Veng town told me she was venturing out there, I invited myself to come!

Friday night, I stayed at her place in the town, to save me from biking an unnecessary 15k in the same day, in addition to getting to Ba Phnom and back. After we ate, we went to her friend’s house (an adorable old Khmer man with amazing stories and impeccable English). He was the one who gave my friend, Taylor, directions to get to Ba Phnom. She said “Wait a minute, I want to see if I can get more specific directions than ‘turn right at the banyon tree.’” I laughed. Then when we went in, she asked her friend “what does a banyon tree actually look like?” I said “wow, you’re serious? I thought you were kidding about turning right at the banyon tree!” But no, it was our only instruction. There were 2 banyon trees we had to look out for. After all, who needs street signs when you have banyon trees?

The next morning, we bought surgical masks (a fashion statement most Cambodians make to keep the dust out of their lungs) and we were on the road by 7AM. We weren’t even on the road a mile when I realized something was very wrong. Taylor was ZOOMING down the road with very little effort, and I was exhausted and sweating through my shirt already. For every rotation that she did on her bike, I did 2, and I was STILL slower than her. Well, I learned just how big a difference having a MOUNTAIN BIKE makes. My bike and I have gotten along pretty well up until this point. It’s a cute city bike with a bell and a basket. But watching Taylor zoom ahead while I pant about a half a kilo behind, I realized what I was missing. She had to keep stopping to let me catch up. It was kind of embarrassing actually…

We biked the 30k in about 2 hours and 15 minutes. When we arrived, we were filthy and exhausted. I was sweating EVERYWHERE. My butt had a giant sweat stain, which was really cute. We successfully found the banyon trees, and didn’t even get lost once.

Taylor’s old Khmer friend lives in Ba Phnom, so we went to his house, where we downed a water bottle each, some sugar cane juice, and 2 bags of crackers. Then the old man said “alright, back on your bikes. We’re gonna tour around the mountain, about 12k." Taylor and I had a laughing fit. We needed to break for a while.

After my butt finally dried, we first went to the ancient ruins. History says that the first big civilization in Cambodia used to be in Prey Veng. Now all that remains is a very small structure. There used to be more, but the Khmer Rouge destroyed a lot during the 70s.

Then we went to the mountain and started climbing. It’s not ‘climbing’ as you might think. There were staircases. But the staircases were so… weird. The higher you got, the steeper the stairs were. Atop the stairs was a very beautiful and elaborate wat. We ran into a Khmer family in the Wat and started talking to them in Khmer. Then the woman says to us in near perfect English “Where are you from, America? Because we live in America now.” Oh- it’s a Kkhmer American family. We should have known, judging by the fact that one son had a laptop, another had an ipad, and the youngest daughter was downloading youtube videos onto her iphone. Well, it actually turns out that this is the family that paid for the Pagoda to be built on the mountain- a whopping 2 million dollars! I’m not going to get too into it right now, but from talking to her we were able to deduce that there are fishy things going on with this is family that is making them so successful.

The most awkward part about meeting this family was this one man who asked the most ridiculous questions, in nearly incomprehensible English. His first question was something to the effect of “Why is it that some countries like America are allowed to make bombs, but other countries aren’t?” His second question was basically “Why does the Arab world hate Americans so much?” We did not respond to either of these questions.

Through the entire dialogue, Taylor and I were eying the plate of sandwiches sitting on the table. They looked like beautiful roast beef sandwiches. I haven’t had a sandwich like that in 6 months. I WANT!

The family invited us to stay and eat… jackfruit with them. Taylor leaned into me and said “her lips are saying jackfruit, but all I keep hearing is sandwich”

We told them we would come back and join them. But we didn’t. No thank you. We also learned that Khmer people in the area are not all that thrilled about having this new pagoda. They miss the thick, cool forrest that used to cover the mountain. I don't blame them! I would too!

We had lunch at a little Khmer restaurant. Then toured around Ba Phnom a bit more. We went to a bunch of Pagodas that are special for different reasons. Not gonna lie, I don’t really remember those reasons.

We also went to the killing fields. I have already been to killing fields in Takeo and Battambang provinces, so I was curious to see what Prey Veng did in their location, and it was exactly what I was afraid of. Takeo and Battambang had memorials built, and a safe place for peoples’ remains to RIP. In Prey Vang, there was literally a tiny bucket filled with mismatched human bones. Taylor's friend said there used to be more bones, but he guessed dogs took them. There was no indication to locations of where things happened 40 years ago. The old man said 40 years ago, this place was filled with huge trees. Now there was only one left for people to see. Khmer Rouge soldiers would kill people by slamming them against the trees, and then throwing them into a pit, so as to not waste bullets or get their weapons dirty.

And that was our day in Ba Phnom. We were back on the road around 2:30. We made it back to Prey Veng town in a record 2 hours (again, with me panting behind Taylor). We stopped for more sugar cane juice, and then I rode the last 15k home.

All together, I rode my bike more than 75k on Saturday, which is about 50 miles. But I now say, it’s not the distance that is impressive, but pathetic bike that I managed to do it on.

I have been enjoying telling Khmer people that I rode my bike to Ba Phnom. They either tell me they think I am a liar, or they look at me like I’m crazy.

I have much more to update you all on, but I’ve been so busy and haven’t had much time to blog. So I’ll try to get in another blog post a little later this week.

I splurged with pictures this time! enjoy!

Yes, I really rode my bike like this.

My sweaty butt.

The tiny ancient temple. The heads on the statues behind me are new. The old heads went missing.

Ancient writings. Their meaning is unknown.

The bottom of the first flight of stairs up the mountain.

The lovely Khmer American family I met. The kids are behind playing on their technology.

The view from the top.

The awesome Khmer man who acted as our personal tour guide.

A bucket of human bones from the Khmer Rouge killings.

The last large tree, used to murder people. The open gazebo is where the bones in a bucket are.

Training Family Love

            I Finally made my way back to visit my training host family, after almost 4 months of not seeing them. I was SO excited, but careful not to let my expectations get too high. There was the chance of it being awkward, since I haven’t seen them in 4 months. Also, there was the chance that my family would be too busy to see me much or spend time with me.

            But I went. And it started off as a disaster. The bus decided not to go to PP (Phnom Penh) that day. So I called a van. The van decided to go to PP a different way that didn’t pass my house. So no good. My last hope was one last van. But the van already passed my house. I had to catch up to the van, and basically jump on while it was still moving haha.

            I got to PP with a 2 hour layover until my bus to Takeo. I treated myself to a $5 meal of pizza and a coke. You know how occasionally you go to a restaurant, and you see the person who is eating alone. And you think, oh that poor person has no one to eat with. That’s sorta embarrassing. Well, that’s me, and I have no problem with that. I eat by myself all the time in Phnom Penh. That probably looks even weirder because what “tourist” goes alone? Haha. Whatever. Nothing can come between me and my pizza.

            Then once in Takeo, I got on a tuk-tuk, and arranged a $2.50 price to take me to my house. But then the tuk tuk driver pawned me off on another tuk-tuk, with other people. So I very clearly said that I will not be paying the same price, because I am now sharing the tuk-tuk. Well, when I got to my house, I gave the driver $1.25, and he flipped out. We argued about it for a while. Eventually I just gave him $2.00 and walked away. He was not happy. Neither was I. I hate being ripped off. I know for a fact that the Khmer people on the tuk-tuk paid on $.75 each.

            But then things turned around, and I had an amazing weekend! My mom saw me walking up to her house, and she came out to meet me. She gave me one of her famous awkward hugs. We went inside and sat down to do some catching-up. Lyny was home sleeping, so she woke him up to come say hi. He decided to be shy any not speak to me right away, so instead I just made fun of him. While I was sitting there with them, my Dad came home from work. He got out of the car to open the gate to his property, and then he saw me. He struck a sketchy pose and gave me a long Hellooooooooo! So he came in, and I dazzled them all with my much-improved Khmer language.

            I took a bath, and then sat with my mom while she cooked. FINALLY, I could adequately tell my mother things I could not express before, such as what foods I like and why. Titi and Jimi came home from school and said their hellos. Then Marady came home too. She had a rough day at work, so I didn’t see much of her the first night. She went to bed. But I had dinner with the family. I almost forgot about how my training family would just put food on my plate. My dad will take a scoop of fish for himself, then another scoop for me. I get it, they’re making sure I feel comfortable to eat a lot, and they want me to have the best parts of the food. But what they don’t know is… I don’t want ANY fish! Lol.

            My mother brought me an apple and cut it up for me to eat, just like old times. Then we watched a bit of TV and went off to bed. My old bedroom is SO nice. I had a HUGE comfy bed and a fan right above me. Not to mention a tiled floor and concrete walls. No mice. No nearby busy road. Not even any need for a mosquito net.

            The following morning, I was awakened by my father hocking loogies, just like old times. I went out of the bedroom, and my mother made me some fish soup. I used to DREAD this fish soup. Who wants to have fish soup when they first wake up? But it was actually.. good!  Not because it was different, just because I guess my taste buds have changed. She bought me some bread to dip into the soup. I enjoyed it.

            An hour or two later, Princess Marady woke up. We went to the market together. I saw some old friends, and we met up with her friends. We had coffee at the market, bought some groceries, and came back home for lunch.

            After lunch I went to go visit my language teacher, Siphen! I was SO excited to see her! I spent about 3 hours there, just talking with her about everything. I can relate to her so well because she is a strong woman, and her values are so close to mine. I wowed her with my language skills. I admit, I was showing off a bit, particularly because there was a group of Australian people there. Siphen has a Home Stay Guest House type thing. I got to watch her teach the Australian dudes how to do laundry by hand. It was SO amusing. But mostly we just sat and shared fruit and shared stories. I am honestly honored she took 3 whole hours out of her incredibly busy life to sit with me.

            Then I went home and sat with my mom, Titi, and Lyny for another couple of hours. We laughed SO HARD. I haven’t laughed that hard at who knows how long. I was the butt of some jokes, mostly for my pronunciation. I have trouble with the word for “older” and the word for “egg”. So to make them laugh, I took the sentence “older sister likes duck eggs” and flipped it up to say “older duck likes sister eggs.” My mom and I came up with animals for Lyny and Titi to imitate the sounds of. You can imagine how that would be entertaining. Then my dad took out his camera phone, and took videos of Lyny acting like a crazy person (often zooming in on me, probably to show off to his friends at work). It was just so good to have no work to do, and to “sit-play”, as they call it in Khmer.

            I bathed, and then played some UNO with Titi and Lyny. I miss having younger siblings to play games with me.

            Dinner was one of my favorite meals! The baby clams with basil. And of course she topped it off with my favorite fruits.

            After dinner, I went to my bedroom. Shortly after that, my sister Marady came in. It was a picture-perfect sister moment. I’ve never had a sister, but I imagine it would be like this. We sat in the bad together for hours talking about everything from culture to boys to our health. We were up til past 11PM, which is ABSURD here.

            The following morning, I ate more rice porridge than I ever thought possible. My mother put a bowl in front of me. I waited for others to come because I assumed it was the family’s bowl. But no, that was my personal bowl. I ate until I felt sick. Then I said my goodbyes and took some pictures. Once again, my mother’s was so memorable. She just holds on around the waste. She’s strong too. She grips on and doesn’t let go. Then she gave me 8 or 9 swift spanks on the butt. We laughed so hard. Then Marady took me to the bus stations. We drank coffee and waited for the bus.

            I was really really sad to leave. I miss them very much. Don’t get me wrong, I love Prey Vang and I love my new host family, but it’s just very different. At my old site, I was very much just a part of the family. I was one of the brothers and sisters. And it was such a loving family. They had their quarrels. Sometimes Marady didn’t get along with her parents, but mostly it was just so loving. And as I said before, I really miss having brothers and sisters my age and younger.

            Speaking of having siblings my age, turns out Marady is actually 24. She’s only a year and a half older than me. She told me she was 25 because they go by the Chinese calendar year.

            Back to the love. I loved watching the family love! Seeing Titi sit snuggled into her mothers’ side. Having every older sibling and parent (including me) make sure that Lyny takes his bath before he eats dinner. Lyny playing a joke on his dad by putting his big round belly in his dad’s face. Then seeing Dad kiss his belly, before smacking him away haha.

            One of the things I talked about with Marady was how men have so much power over women in Cambodia. A father will tell her daughter what she is allowed to study in college. A husband will tell his wife whether or not she is allowed to work. In both of my host families, the husband disallowed work for the wife. My mother in Takeo told me she wished she could work. She is actually a trained pharmacist! But my Dad told her to stay home. We discussed the reasons for this. Dads want the moms to looks after the kids and clean the house and cook. My feminist self was highly offended by this. But Marady told me, it’s also because my Dad loves my Mom so much and doesn’t want her to have to work too hard. Oh. That’s.. really sweet.

            I smiled almost the whole way home to Prey Vang. And the cherry on the top of the love cake was the old Khmer couple sitting next to me on the bus. They barely ever said a word to each other, but they held hands the whole way. That is rare in Cambodia, but it was so adorable.

            Some days/groups of days just really make you regain faith in people and their ability to love one another.

1. Good ol' Lyny.

2. Me and Marady

3. Marady, Titi, and me. Easily the most beautiful girl in this picture is Titi, but they disagreed because her skins looks dark in the picture.

4. My mom with her death grip on me.

5. Me and my mom again.

6. Remember my puppy?? Not so little anymore! And... white! She used to be black! By the way, her name changed to "duit", which means small. I agree, Diana is a terrible name for a dog. Besides, I wouldnt want to hear my mother say my name with the tone of voice she uses to talk to the dogs.