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The Stink of Durian for Newbies, and Adjusting to Cambodia

5 May 2005 by Nathalie Abejero Leave a Comment

A royal decree was issued in the night. Everyone in Cambodia who has shoes is to take them off, and they are to do it inside my room. Groan. Below my hotel window (wide open cuz the one AC unit in the entire town was not allocated to this hut) is a fruit stall enterprise specializing in durian, a treat to wake up to at 6am. It is that time of year when foreigners are subjected to Fear Factor challenges involving this foul mishap of creation. It is the season, they are everywhere, and the Khmers must share. There is particular affinity for this fruit, drawing national pride, cherished reverently, like there is a little god inside the paranormal-looking blob. When foreigners are offered a piece of it Khmer radars within a mile radius zero in and they all whip around to see what you will do. You ought not refuse– their expressions are benign enough, friendly in fact, but it gives eerie pause. If this were a scene in a horror flick or nightmare the wrong response will exact gruesome vengeance straight from the bowels of hell. Think twice, foreigner. Trips to market are now unhappy excursions. Since I have the big SUV my driver is put upon to haul the putrid cargo about, and of course the stench lingers. Usually I stay a few paces behind my translator at the market, who refuses to be seen with me because sellers tack on a “foreigner tax”. But when haggling for durian I don’t mind at all looking conspicuously foreign to jack up the price. Purchases came to a short-lived halt until she caught on.

Gastronomical conquests become a newcomer’s specialty. One of the more infamous aphrodisiacs hereabouts Asia is called balut in Tagalog. It is a fertilized duck egg, harvested just days before hatch date and boiled so that the fetus is fully formed and decadently crunchy. Bugs are also much prized fast food items– spiders, ants, crickets, really anything that moves, the more legs the better. To be fair, the cockroach that went into the fryer in Poipet was not the same creature spawned of urban squalor– they insist it’s a beetle, bred for its crispy, nutty texture, though that is hardly encouragement enough to pop one in my mouth. Everything gets fried, dyed, dried. Colors I normally associate with radioactive elements and glow-in-the-dark objects are particularly popular additives to milks, juices, and sweets. Meat jerkies are common too, and my neighbors occasionally lay things out to dessicate. The ones resembling small rodents sporting extra legs always throw me for a loop, but my inquiring mind is mum, quite content to leave ignorance intact. Flee! Flee!

These lead to sporadic obsessions I can’t shake– pasta, peanut butter, chocolate– {{When the dog bites When the bee stings When I’m feeeeeling saaaaad . . . }}}. I’m still nursing a chocolate craving that won’t go away, initially sadly coincident with the expat exodus from the Khmer New Year, which took with it all the baking talent of Phnom Penh (the French colonialists failed miserably in dessert indoctrination). That precipitated a baking fixation, a difficult endeavor in a country where appliances that generate additional heat are not popular, so you are put upon to make your own oven. Luckily my pal RS was not only able to prevent the forthcoming inferno– he offered use of his oven– his baking skills also far exceeds mine (not a stellar achievement, but desperate circumstances justify disproportionate merit). . . . . mmm, a little piece of heaven can reduce all else to insignificance.

Working off a chocolate binge is a problem. Only tourists wear shorts and/or a tank top in public, branding themselves such by doing so. Best times for activity to avoid that fresh-popped-in-the-oven feeling are either end of the midday heat– around 4am or 11pm. Volleyball courts aren’t optimal, unless diving into pavement is part of your routine. There are two gyms, and two tended tennis courts lacking weeds and cracks to assist the ball out of play. These conditions thwart an already dim resolve to work out. So one weekend I joined the Hash House Harriers, a running club that exists in most cities in response to the expat need for fraternity and drinki– err, recreation. (CW, this group must be in Maputo?). I hadn’t done anything remotely active in many months, but this truth is not impressive so I fibbed about my activity level when they asked what kind of running I do. Bad mistake, my second floor apartment suddenly presented a challenge to twitching legs for a full week.

Work is great. Fieldwork is interesting, especially when theory and practice find detours around each other. And who in public health doesn’t have a story about condom demonstrations. We set up temporary labs in the Provincial AIDS Offices, which conduct condom use programs. A woman came in one day while we were there, complaining of pregnancy. Their wooden penis went missing for a few days, so the peer educators substituted bananas. Apparently the message on where exactly to place the condom went awry, because all bananas in her house now get one. LOL. Not those bananas lady. And have you ever used a translator? I ask a question, it is translated, and immediately translator and subject are engrossed in animated dialogue. Twenty minutes later, pen and notebook in hand expecting some good material, my translator turns to me with: “He said yes.” . . . ?!. . . How long is the Khmer word for ‘yes’??

Being so often on the road reminds me how far off the comfort zone we are. I don’t usually prefer the backseat due to motion sickness, but given that everyone has the right of way here I opt for illness. It seems a widely held belief that increasing velocity will relieve other objects approaching the same intersection of mass, and I find myself in perpetual unease at having to one day demonstrate this theory wrong. There is a prompt– only the Khmers hear these voices– to shove pedal to the metal upon nearing the crossroads. At intersections across the country foreigners riding backseat in all manner of transport can be seen craning our necks in rising panic proportionate to speed, searching for the cause of this lunacy. What’s happening?! Sometimes eyes will meet and befuddlement is mirrored in a split instant– misery appreciates company. Then the imminent peril ends, contact is broken, the junction is past. {{breathe}} I’m alive!!! {{insert maniacal laugh}} Vehicles ought to be equipped with toys and other diversions, soft things preferably, for just such treacherous outings down the street.

Ah the things that guidebooks leave out. Systematic exploration of the emotional topography is Cambodia’s specialty. Theme parks bah!— close encounters with the next life are just a flight away. So come and visit!!! Beyond all this excitement, separation from Keith by the entirety of the planet’s molten magma is quite the trial, especially with the time differential. You veterans, particularly Melanie and Cherry (seems to be a Filipina-Am trend), have an indomitable will and I am inspired. And to fellow colleagues likewise traversing unknown territories by him/herself: the destination is never as exciting is it? Though emails from me are scarce I do read everything in my inbox and print the longer ones for inspiration through bleak spells of no AC, charbroiling temperature, and chocolate deprivation so keep ’em comin’!

Filed Under: Travels Tagged With: durian, fieldwork, Khmer, public health

Khmer New Year (Choul Chhnang Thmei)

12 April 2005 by Nathalie Abejero Leave a Comment

It’s a week before the biggest annual event of the Khmer New Year. Every single baraing (foreigner) I knew already left the country and there are few people at the popular expat bars. My street is lined with huge speakers, stacked one on top of the other, and every night traditional Khmer shrieking pierces the air at full blast. Female vocals have a high nasally pitch to them so thanks to the concrete makeup of structures, the screeching amplifies and reverberates superbly, while the accompanying bass pounds to the core beyond salvation of earplugs. People are on the streets boppin’ to the racket.

OK so it’s one thing to have disagreeable tunes steadily assailing your nerves. Your frazzled system adjusts and the assault can mitigate to white noise. But local deejays have perfected a Chinese water drop torture, Khmer-style. No song plays in entirety. The music starts in the middle of a screeching trill, and halfway into the track it stops. Complete silence for two seconds or two minutes–no one knows— then the shrieking explodes again without warning. Your entire being convulses into shock each time. This continues all night— And people dance straight through these intermittent gaps in the music like it is totally normal.

At midnight amateur screaming blows through the neighborhood as the karaoke begins. And every morning they wake up before sunrise to play games. Of course these would involve a lot of hollering and clanging of objects designed to transmit the unfriendliest possible noise to wake up to.

Oh, and then there’s the water and talcum powder. I wondered why there were so few people outside in the daytime. Then I saw a pickup coming down the road on the other side of the street with large drums, hoses, and riders in the back. I paid the vehicle no mind. But when it bore down on a hapless cyclist and blasted him with a high-powered spray of water so that he fell to the ground, I made for a frightened dash out of sight. People– strangers— then descend upon you when you’re down to rub talcum powder into your face. This is all in good fun I think. I might join had I not had to work throughout all of this. Sigh. I have a few days’ vacation now, so perhaps I’ll get out there and pelt my neighbors with water balloons from my balcony. Perhaps I’ll dig out an Eminem cd while I’m at it hee hee, though with my luck they’d probably like it and I’ll be responsible for introducing a suboptimal piece of Americana culture. I am hoping for escape in Ho Chi Minh City. I hope Vietnam has a sleep-friendly version of these festivities– five hours a night isn’t too much to ask is it…?

Filed Under: Travels Tagged With: Choul Chhnang Thmei, Chunpo Chhnang Thmei, Khmer New Year, travel

Cambodia: To temple To Temple (Angkor Wat)

15 March 2005 by Nathalie Abejero Leave a Comment

Despite previous hysterics I’ve decided there’s an alluring charm about this unyielding landscape. It’s a tough adjustment, still is. One thing about traveling/living abroad that is nice in the short term is that you’re constantly engaged, stimulated, surrounded by people. But for the long haul it’s a revolving door of expats– they’re just passing through and do not stay in your life. Absence of the friendly face that knows, understands, or plain amuses you is draining. So I was much excited about the prospect of a friend of a friend coming into the country to see Angkor, though I knew little about this boy beyond his kind streak of saving your wits and handing them back to you when you’ve lost it in horrible places like POIPET. Happily– hopefully both ways– he turned out to be fairly cool!

Being “local,” albeit brand-new, apparently affords me a bit of aptitude on local lore in his erroneous estimation. What’s the time span on Angkor building activity? he asked. Uh . . .six centuries, said I with much authority. note to self: look this up. Where did they quarry the stones from? Locally, not far at all. note to self: look this up. How’s the crime situation in Phnom Penh? Not bad. note to self: look this up. Also noting the sidewise suspicious glances he started tossing my way.

It was a six hour drive from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap, onboard the most well-run outfit I have seen thus far in Cambodia. There was assigned seating, we left almost on time, and they served bug-free pastries in a clean box with a bottle of “Elvis” brand water. I gratefully noted that buses are not equipped with those hideous Turkish toilets that seem all the rage here in SE Asia. We even got a take-off spiel that prompted Nirmal to crack on the airline frustrations of the bus company’s managers. To top it off there was the notable absence of missing patches of highway, making for a smooth unjarring journey. And unlike my errantly intrepid assumption of the availability of friendly hospitality in Poipet, in Siem Reap it was a given, making it easy to wing an itinerary. Ah the small luxuries I have descended to waxing lyrical on. By random choice we ended up with the nicest of drivers, who took us to the nicest of guest houses, and as soon as we booked our rooms he collected his commission for taking us there.

Travelin’ commandos: what one place on this planet just blew you away– by mystique, raw beauty, feat of humanity? Mohenjo-Daro, Petra, Machu Picchu, Kanchenjunga, the Bagan Plains?

It’s hard to imagine how old buildings and fallen stones overgrown with trees can move you to tears, even in state of disrepair. At Ta Phrom, the complex expression of art is magical, sacred, a powerful testament of man’s homage to his god. The jungles took possession of this monastic Buddhist complex in a morbidly curious way. Massive white root systems of fig and banyan trees, almost menacing, as if still growing before your very eyes in a horror scene, twist into and around the cracks and fissures of stone pillars. The sun’s rays diffusing through the canopy imparts an ethereal glow to the seeming-petrified state of ruin. Integrity of the monuments’ architectural design is intact, curiously enhanced by the force of nature in a parasitic vice. India takes over administration of this particular site from the French, and there is much resistance to reconstructive/restorative work that removes these trees.

One of these grace the Lonely Planet Cambodia cover with a very stooped old man sweeping the ground. As we turned the corner we hit a dead stop, cuz there he was, the very same man, wearing the very same clothes, still sweeping the grounds of his beloved wat as he was when the LP photographer came through to capture the 5th edition photo.

The Temples of Angkor comprise many hundreds of complexes, temples, and monuments in a 77square mile area of northwestern Cambodia. It is the legacy of an ancient Khmer empire, one of the greatest existing engineering and architectural achievements of the Ancient World. Angkor Wat is a vast spread of a city whose dimensions, art, and architectural features are metaphorically paralleled to Hindu philosophies and the spatial universe. It is also one of the largest known religious structures, with bas-reliefs carved into gallery surfaces to teach the religious epics of Mahabharata and Ramayana. Most proceeds from ticket sales to the Angkor archaeological zone go to a petroleum company called Sokimex. Odd arrangement, but questioning convoluted logic gets tiring and thus I regrettably can impart not a drop of clue what that’s about. So with passes clutched deftly in hand– our permission to wander the landmined acreages of Angkor– we took off for a dizzyingly full day of wat-sighting, with just a small break in the dead heat of day when brains hereabouts stop functioning, fixated completely on the one thought: I think I’ll just sit in a puddle. Otherwise we took in as many sites as our helpful tuk-tuk driver Longpok cared to show us: the Bayon, tribute to narcissism; the massive labyrinthian monastery of Preah Khan; delicate carvings on the stone pillars of Bantae Srei, tribute to the then-king’s mother; and impeccably restored Bantae Samre, to name a few.

Grave miscalculation by this neo-nomad brought us to Angkor Wat before sunset, when the entirety of the region’s travelers had also synchronized to arrive. We beelined for the central tower and shimmied up to the summit view of the vast royal city. It is a precarious 65meter (213feet) ascent at a steep 70 degree angle. How ancient peoples managed stairs about a foot and a half in height with barely a step to solidly plant much past the balls of your feet is counfounding to me. I hug-crawled up, grappling anxiously for hand- and footholds and ungraciously scraping my face and body in fear that a wisp of breeze would pluck me off. It is this way in the ruins of Latin America as well, and it is scary, without landings or railings to hold on to, so I am forced to sing songs like “A-B-C-D-E-F-G. . . .” to keep calm. For the descent NG offered helpfully to carry his binoculars, which I hogged during the trip, presumably so it won’t be damaged in the event I take the fast way bounce back down to the ground. “To help you,” he insisted, all innocence.

The visual impact of the sheer size of Angkor Wat was not delivered with the awe-inspiring punch as expected. Our approach was punctuated by the steady din that accompanies crowds; quietude was not to be had even atop the central towers where the view alone ought to inspire wordlessness. Cell phone conversations in all manner of languages pierced the air. Parents yanked whining kids along, and backpackers debated the evening’s haunts. We paused dutifully for armed and trigger happy commando tourists in fierce assault on the galleries of bas-reliefs, cameras slung about their chests like ammo belts. And the sun set behind mortal-brown clouds of dust stirred up by tuk-tuks and package tour buses roaming about the lot outside the western gate, across the immense span of moat. Weariness displaced the wow factor, with another visit required to truly afford it justice.

So I’m adjusting to the rythms of the country. Summits are scaled by attitude, yes?, and old comforts, conjuring up unbidden like a mirage for a stranded soul, daily resigns further along the periphery of awareness. From the avant-garde sophisticata of the Northeast US to the progress-cum-reinvention of the Asian Southeast, it is a contrast of worlds. I’m still inundated by new experiences: juggling dual currencies; ads and billboards communicating in three to five languages; an erratic mobile phone situation (Cambodia is a tad behind the curve negotiating bilateral agreements for connections). At this stage of (under-) development Cambodia’s pollution is still localized, not yet an ominous haze engulfing the skyline, but it still draws grievance of sinus activity that in this current climate of bird flu paranoia elicits a wave of alarm from people nearby. But not to worry, as our best medical minds (I hope) are on this puppy . . . a-choo. I also decided at some point that hunger is an unhappy state of being, so I’ve resumed eating in Cambodia, where rotavirus glee emanates palpably from each bite (eat me! me! ME!).

Then the nag of things missed which can’t be nursed with distraction: (KK might just have to top that list!) My jetta! Being driven around doesn’t compare to workin’ the gears and eating up the miles. Sports!, ohhhhh to burn holes in the ground!, pound the ball!, harness all frustrations and tear into a split burst of action! My sedentary reflexes are withering by the second and what I wouldn’t do to–hmmmh . . . well now if that doesn’t provoke a thought . . .

{{thinking. . . thinking}}} . . . –! ! !

Ok bye I go now

Filed Under: Travels Tagged With: Angkor Wat, Cambodia, Poipet, Siem Reap, travel

Cambodia: “Logic” in My New Life (or Lack Thereof)

17 February 2005 by Nathalie Abejero Leave a Comment

(Note regarding last post: I admit naive existence by my reaction to Poipet, of all border towns, and am duly humbled and impressed by y’all’s courage under fire. I remain in anticipation of genuine notoriety ahead!)

Lunch was a hearty bowl of steaming soup. I dug in. . . . Uh-huh, I don’t eat that {{taking out a pig knuckle}} . . . Mmm, chicken feet {{chuck}}. . . Hadn’t had innards in a while {{chuck}}. . . What-is–??–{{scrutinizing from different angles. . . chuck}} . . . By the time I was ready to start there were a few noodles left in my bowl and four dogs waiting expectantly at my feet. Meals are a Fear Factor challenge without the prizes. The psychology part can be overcome, it boils down to digestive prowess—and a good medical evacuation plan.

A third world state of affairs bypass logic for lottery in Kampuchea. I was looking for a friend’s place and passed a row of houses addressed 41, 9, 243, 245, 9 (in that sequence, and yes you saw 9 twice). After a sufficient amount of cursing I looked around, hoping to find a baraing (foreigner), because even English-speaking Khmers are little help. (For no apparent reason street names or currency denominations will just change.) Postcards: one person in the entirety of the country was delegated monopoly on the photo stocks here, and capturing the unrefined splendor of Cambodia was not his forte. Mail: don’t bother. Internet: user-resistant. ATMs: none. Bring all the money you will need into Cambodia with you and stuff it under the mattress against your better judgment. I was told by the bank teller to go “upstairs” when I flashed my ATM Visa card. After two dark flights of stairs and down a narrow musty labyrinth I came upon a small closet of an office with a bare light bulb, one desk, and one very small old man with a receipt book who told me in French that the wires are down and please come again NEXT WEEK. As in, I clarified, many DAYS from now? Oui, he nodded.

#!@%&!@#$

Transport: There are bus stops but no buses. There are no taxis. Most roads even in the capital city of Phnom Penh are unpaved. Stop lights are a senseless piece of adornment to be ignored at convenience. I still spazz a twitch when my motodup makes a left on red and plows intrepidly into the oncoming traffic. While walking I look alertly in ALL directions, not just BOTH ways, because all manner of wheeled transport hum right along every crack of space, kicking up thick clouds of dirt which I am convinced obstruct reason somewhat. Public transportation comprise motodups (drivers with motorbikes) and cyclos (bicycle-driven rickshaws)– good luck communicating in ANY language theirs or yours. In eagerness to earn as much cash as possible, they nod affirmatively when asked about a destination, then rocket halfway to Vietnam before you realize in panic that this navigationally-challenged psychopath has not a drop of clue where you just told him to go.

First impressions indeed at Poipet. Infrastructure is in hideous disrepair. I am not an engineer, but watching foundation being laid is a worrisome sight. I cringe every time a truck drives by and shakes the building I’m in. On a decrepit one-lane bridge in Kandal province, as I erred in apprehension over a cheery gust of wind, unsecured planks of wood or steel shifted about beneath our tires. Drivers tear through the narrow roads, passing on the left, the right, on the grass, between pedestrians and streetside stalls– with chickens and livestock scurrying out of the way. I must mention that fellow riders are belting out folk songs throughout these suicide jaunts, while my life flashes before my popped-out eyeballs and thoughts along the lines of “WE’RE-ALL-GONNA-DIE” cycle through my consciousness.

I never worried about medical insurance in the US or while traveling, but statistically in this raw environment I have a high probability of needing emergency evacuation to Singapore or Thailand at some point. Regulation is cockeyed. Valium and Cipla are available over-the-counter, but in the latest blip of attempt at regulation, you need a letter from the Ministry of Health to obtain migraine medicine (hello? prescription?). As a result, microorganisms have reached critical levels of resistance to the bastions of antibiotics straight out of the pharmaceutical pipelines. Hygiene: what’s that? (Try not to eat in Cambodia). Medical and clinical science education: not accredited (Kudos to whoever braves a root canal in Cambodia). I want to tattoo a credit card number on my forehead: “If found unconscious please medevac OUT of Cambodia PRONTO.”

The food is adequate (read: be afraid). It’s a different culinary experience to my street corner binges in Thailand. Were it not for the endless other elements in Khmer society vying for damage to my person, there would not be a second thought to snarfing what morsel crosses my path. However, with a maximum lifetime allowance in mind, I must budget my behavior accordingly. Many an unsuspecting digestive tract– sturdy ones at that– have been felled by the multitude surprises this cuisine has to offer, that I am loathe to challenge the fates quite yet. There are things in their food– THINGS— that Phnom Penh must boast a robust sanitation system. {{Whining, wringing fingers:}}} And the bathrooms, the bathrooms!– FINE latrines though they may be by local standards–you do not want to be that acquainted with them. So I sadly stick to things whose nutritional content has been heat-beaten out of it, and hencewith I’ve found Khmer preferences to run in the flavour vicinities of bitter, sour, and salty. {{{sigh}} Someday when intestinal difficulties move higher up my priority experiences of Kampuchea I shall endeavor to elaborate further on this– the cuisine, not its digestive repercussions.

At least I caught the cool season hereabouts Indochina at a mild 90+degrees, dry as a bone. I’m burnt like a rice farmer and am very often hot and sticky. I went for a haircut and my Khmer apparently came out as “take it all off” instead of “trim it just a wee bit”.

: –

Ah well, a new look for a new life.

For women, Cambodia is a shocking sweep back in time for misfortune of birth. Virtue is paramount: rape victims are forced into the sex industry for lack of options, thanks to unforgiving social stigmas. This attitude is so entrenched that girls will actually drop enrollment and proactively shop for brothels. Propriety dictates single women be chaperoned by a family member in social situations. And while wives are expected to be obedient and faithful, society encourages men to keep several bedmates. (I do not understand royal dynamics yet. I expect an openly gay King to liberalize a few things somewhat, but I won’t hold my breath).

All Khmers are survivors, and as with anyone who has undergone trauma, there is a gravity to their spirit. People as young as 30 bear psychological remnants of the Khmer Rouge purges. The genocide that tyrranized Democratic Kampuchea just three decades ago stripped the country of its entire educated population. The reign of terror ended only in 1998 with the death of Pol Pot, without justice meted out, leaving the country scarred and exhausted. Today over half of the population is under 14 years old. Literacy struggles around 30%. Cambodia ranks 130 out of 175 countries in the Human Development Index (HDI). It is a clean administrative slate hospitable to and eliciting a steady flow of aid, creating an NGO economy, from which of course corruption took firm hold. There is evidence of families pimping children out to beg, severing their limbs or pouring battery acid over their face, to better tug at the empathies and wallets of foreigners. Human trafficking, the slave trade, a child sex industry are all rampant. It is an international effort to curb the markets for abuse here. I still reduce to verge of tears when I’m approached by uniformed men with rifles demanding my passport in rapid language beyond my grasp, in areas where I’m the only baraing, because it is not so long ago that foreigners, especially US Americans, were terror targets. But I suspect these problems are the reason why I’m accosted.

Throughout all this we have the UN presence to thank for the fortressed neoclassical French villas which comprise the Boeng Keng Kang section of Phnom Penh, home to the expats. I cannot fault such havens amid abject poverty and the daily dose of heinous realities that blow right through the psyche. This country tears every foreigner away from known comfort zones. It is a lot rougher than I expected, and my travel trepidation level is daily readjusted. I thank my lucky stars for friends across the borders here who keep regular tabs on me. And a husband who can read logs like this and still remain eternally supportive.

Filed Under: Travels Tagged With: Cambodia, Kampuchea, logic, travel

Cambodia: Poipet Border Crossing

7 February 2005 by Nathalie Abejero 8 Comments

First impression via point of entry is a curious introduction to a country. Express arrival through sterile gateways is had at the airport, with greeting that is composed and targeted. Would you like a Starbucks au lait, a shuttle to our white beach resorts, wine and dine at our five star establishments. How modern we are, let us show you (can you tell what parts of the world my travels take me to). The overland route goes through back doors, where a country is less prepared to receive guests, exposing social ills and systemic inadequacies, or perhaps better displaying an old world charm and raw beauty. Given time and energy, I attempt this passage.

And then there was Poipet.

The train ride from Bangkok to the border town of Aranyaprathet was uneventfully peaceful. With the tropical landscape rushing past my window, it was a tranquil start to the two-day journey. There I was able to hitch a ride to the border aboard a tour bus en route to Siem Riep and the premier destination in Cambodia, Angkor Wat. After the usual song and dance with immigration officials I crossed into Poipet and the Khmer Kingdom. (Overland border crossing is just the most paranoic encounter for me. The worst I expect is a fee scam. But what if they deny me entry? Or worse, confiscate my passport, my one internationally recognized proof of existence?).

And here it had to happen, a vicious assault of the worst kind. I was in a cafe with my adopted tour group pondering absently at the ache in my joints. Eight hours on an unpadded wooden seat can wreak havoc on the most tolerant constitution, more so for taller Westerners with less wiggle room for long legs. I always wonder what can pierce the everlasting good spirits of my 6’7″ husband and imagining Keith with me in those moments makes my heart smile.

Through this reverie a soft papery fluttering, too late, caught my attention. WELCOME to Kampuchea, prime real estate for the ubiquitous cockroach population of the large kind, equipped with the unfortunate mechanism of flight. The foul creature that fixated on me crawled for refuge down the front of my shirt as I flew into a fit. The next few moments were a blur until I snapped to sense and stopped, and found myself standing smack middle of upturned chairs, table, and parted crowd. A dirty little Khmer boy scampered after the creature, caught the lunch escapee in one hand, and dumped it into the fryer at the front of the cafe. Lordy if this isn’t a sign.

For my bright and cheery outlook on travel, I cannot find one good thing to say about that abominable hellhole this side of the planet. Poipet is a crossing point that opened to foreigners in 1998, and it instantly built up around the opportunities that presented. It’s described as a Wild West town, and the lawless atmosphere this implies is not exaggeration. Children cling to your sleeve and pursue handouts en masse, then kick your backpack as you walk away. Motorbike drivers crisscross insistently in front of you, undeterred by NO in Thai, Khmer, English. A growing mafia with the singular objective of scamming a deal aggressively harass travelers and are outright belligerent when refused. . . . And that is the tamer part of the scenario. Where normally I’d push positively onward, in this town my optimism reduced to irritation then alarm as darkness approached. I was actually disappointed to the brink of tears to see the last foreigner leave for Siem Riep and was tempted to talk my way again onto one of their groups.

I wanted OUT of Poipet ASAP, but the next means out to the part of the country I was bound for did not leave until morning. In my years of living in Harlem or traveling new cities, I’d never felt my sixth sense buzzing, not to be ignored, even in the dead of night, like it did in Poipet in broad daylight. I bought my bus ticket, hurried to my room, jammed the nightstand against the door, and rearranged the layout to maximize my advantage in case of intrusion. I lined up what belongings I could use as a weapon on the bed, near reach. It’s the kind of place where you keep your clothes on and sleep alert with your hand wrapped around a sharp object ready to spring the commotion rather than wait for it to happen to you. I am forever thankful to a new pal who kept calling/texting to check on me, offering to pay my taxi back to Bangkok should I decide to return “home”. He rescued my sanity that day and night. {{{You’re the bestest, Nirmal–yet again!}}}

The sun awoke over Kampuchea with the brightest crimson glare, and I concurred most crossly. I found to my complete disgust at the BUS station that I was traveling via PICKUP truck. While it is not uncommon hereabouts, balancing precariously on the sides of the flatbed is a recipe for pain. Besides that I was the only female of fourteen riders none of whom could I communicate with, and besides THAT it is a dusty nine-hour ride to Phnom Penh, which is WHY I wanted a BUS, with MANY people, PADDED seats, and AIR CONDITIONING. Of course that ticket man was nowhere to be found at 6am. So while waiting to leave, all manner of Poipet’s biting insects descended on me. Expletives I never knew I had in arsenal erupted to surface and hawkers converged when it registered that I wasn’t Thai or Khmer. Finally, half an hour past the appointed departure time we left. On the way out we passed a row of thatched-roof abodes that might’ve passed for the cutest stilt houses were it not for the fact that they were IN Poipet. Do you know they even had the NERVE to erect a sign entreating travelers to Please Come Again– lousy filthy &%$@! {{{fists in air}}}.

NOTHING in the Khmer countryside was alluring; it was barren and lifeless with an occasional lone coconut or palm in the distance, even the jagged rocky excuses for elevations looked wasted. The roads were in HORRIBLE condition, with massive craters the size of small Pacific islands marring our path so the truck drove a swerving tango, rattling my senses ad infinitum. On the flatbed were sacks of pineapples, and when I fell on one from a jolt of exuberant driving across a series of chasms I nearly flipped myself over the edge in haste to avoid impaled death by pineapple. In the middle of a rickety one-lane bridge as I erred in apprehension over a cheery gust of wind, our driver stopped, got out, and rearranged an UNBOLTED plank of steel to cover a gaping hole that an entire vehicle can plunge through to the muddy waters not a very near distance below. Finally I had it, anything was better than this. So I got off at the side of the road and flagged down the next runt of transportation that chugged along, where I squeezed between a pregnant lady who needed all the space she could hog, and her sack of durian and jackfruit (another spiky stinky blob of a fruit straight out of a science fiction scene). Unbelievable. Reality just sucked at that point so I forced a nap.

First impressions indeed–I am now here, in this broken country with a tragic recent past, I’m getting a new cellular number, I’m searching for a new address.

By the way, for those of you in touch with my parents, I appreciate not a word of these scenarios coming around their way! While I love them dearly enough, the wildest adventure of a paper cut sends them reeling into a doting frenzy, so my placid Tales of Asia back home are benignly uneventful, which pleases them. I’d rather not shatter their notion of my posh care and accommodation with a college friend in Bangkok whom they’ve come to know and trust. {{I shudder the thought if they knew the truth about you, Doualy!}}

Filed Under: Travels Tagged With: Aranyaprathet, Cambodia, Kampuchea, Khmer, Poipet, Thailand, travel

Thailand: Embrace the Chaos (Bangkok)

2 February 2005 by Nathalie Abejero Leave a Comment

I was standing at a busy intersection waiting amid a large crowd of pedestrians to cross the street, when someone pinched my butt. I glared heavenwards at the asinine behavior before turning slowly around. And looked up. And up. There was a tree behind me. And it honked. Right in the middle of the Bangkok congestion, in rush hour, an elephant is standing behind me waiting to cross the street. Where else would you see this!! Alright, ok, it’s still a novel appeal to me. I walked next to the massive creature for a few blocks, touching his trunk, his leg, a stupid smile on my face.

Thailand is the only SE Asian country to have escaped the good fortune of Western colonization, a subject of much debate as to why (that was sarcasm). Farming villages, especially those outside guidebook-assisted traffic, manage to preserve an authentic traditional culture. It is one of the last three countries in Asia (Cambodia and Korea are the others) to retain the unifying symbolism of its royal family. Like the typical middle-developing capital city assaulted by a rush of progress faster than its infrastructure can keep pace, Bangkok is dynamic, evolving, exhausting. It is extravagance and exotic refinement, hosted by a culture of reverence and hospitality, amid pollution, congestion, chaos. Streets are rapidly and irreverently stripped of local flavor in favor of sterile megamalls and concrete warrens of Starbucks, GAPs, multi-cineplexes. Professionals favor western garbs over finer traditional silks and prints. There is a concerning eagerness to emulate the standards of westernization ie Singapore.

Despite the clash of modernization with cultural identity, Bangkok offers the friendliest hospitality to newbie globetrotters and jaded planeteers alike. The population is highly literate; many people speak some english; western currency gets good mileage. Legions of tuk-tuks (tricycles), motorbikes, and taxis roar down the left side of wide boulevards that can be pedestrian-unfriendly. My jaywalking days were put to a screeching halt quite literally when I stepped off the curb looking for traffic in the wrong direction and was instantly plowed into, thankfully by only a tuk-tuk. A collective of older ladies peeled me off the street and helped me cross the street, holding my hands like I was a child. It was very cute.

Sensory speaking, I lived an impoverished age. From the moment I stepped off the plane my senses have been assaulted by the extremes of sight, sound, smell. Resplendent temple rooftops mark the signature skyline with their vibrant gold. Streets are lined with market stalls selling orchids, traditional handicrafts, knockoff-brand merchandise (of surprisingly good quality, I found), fine silks and textiles—it is a bargain hunter’s disneyland and a premier destination for vendors in the country. Pushcart kitchens and bars are everywhere. A special Thai moonshine that I swear is straight rubbing alcohol is found only on these street bars.

Seekers of Siam Exotica are not disappointed. I passed a snake blood stand and watched the vendor hang an unlucky reptile, slit it open with a razor, and drain its blood for a fresh warm shot. It supposedly is restorative for many systemic ills; only the poisonous ones will do. For dire situations, king cobra venom mixed with a bit of whiskey is the ticket. Dried gall bladders, fried hearts, pickled genitals are all readily available as well for the uncompromising palate. Flash strips and the skin trade hawking Oriental decadence waken every evening next to swanky shopping centers. Drugs of all kinds are available with the right eye contact. The basest desires transcend linguistic barriers.

And the FOOD!!! Thai food from the best restaurants can’t compare to the vibrant succulence that attack your palate and olfactory glands here. I found and devoured the remotest familiar fruit, drink, and concoction that I remembered from childhood in the tropics plus more (my palate thankfully had the good sense to stop at durian). Meals are so cheap that many apartments aren’t equipped with kitchens. Portions are small for western standards (Keith will need to purchase the kitchen’s reserves!). D and I are about a size 2 in the US; older ladies here grab our arms in good-natured ribbing and laugh at how “fat” we are (in the Philippines it was a compliment).

No standard system exists for transliterating Thai script into Roman so quick lateral adjustments are necessary. Ayutthaya on a map is easily Ayudhia on the street sign; ditto Chatuchak/Jatujak, Ratsada/Raitchada, etc. The tonal language subverts what linguistic logic I possess. Bound for Khao San, mecca for the backpackers, I kept accenting incorrectly. How many different ways one can intonate “Khao San” is beyond me, but I somehow accomplished it. I was dropped off clear across town from intended destination on the first try, and stayed to explore since I was already there. The next day I obliged the fates again after I insisted to no avail with the driver who took me to yet another part of town. Wondering if it’s possible to run out of ways to corrupt this name, three days later I was finally brought to the right place. I haven’t a drop of clue why.

There is a propensity towards kindness in the Thai personality. They’re an inherently good-natured, friendly, and peace-loving sort. To illustrate, unlike in neighboring countries that share their faith of Theravada Buddhism, deities here are benevolent beings, epics and legends like the Ramayana end happily ever after. Merit seeking acts of kindness to insure karmic goals are a life-long endeavor. Of course, the occasional miscreant exists and they have nothing to lose but a propitious rebirth higher up the reincarnation ladder (I wish my pickpocketer an eight-legged existence). This accompanies a natural reverence towards fellow creatures and Mother Earth, which sadly is quickly being replaced by materialism.

Women–a curious subject in whatever city I find myself. This influence on the hearts and minds of the generations is a fascinating watch, before eyes dismiss, look politely down, or smile in courteous greeting. It’s tough to miss the sheer will barely veiled in the eyes of Middle Eastern, Eastern European, Indian women, for instance, despite seeming constraint of culture. That spirit seems rule, not exception. But in the Land of Smiles gusto is mistaken for exception. Across this continent exists a vastly different modus operandi than what has served D and I well in the West, buttressed by a philosophy that honey catches more flies than vinegar. D struggles through this challenge, and I see the same frustration awaiting me.

Filed Under: Travels Tagged With: Bangkok, Thailand, travel

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Those little feet pitter-pattering about rule our lives lately. But on the occasional free moment I get to tap out scatterbrained bursts of consciousness about raising toddlers in Cambodia, traveling with them and working abroad. These posts are my personal updates to friends and family. But since you’re here, have a look around. Thanks for stopping by…

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