Cambodia: Day 76

Saturday, July 23rd, 2011

Phnom Penh

Lauren and I wanted to hit up the recreation scene this morning, requiring us to wake up at 5:20 AM so that we could be up at the Riverfront by 5:45 AM. We woke up, changed, and groggily pedaled our bikes up to the Royal Palace. The sun was coming up over the river, painting a beautiful orange and red sky. I had to stop to take a few pictures while Lauren rode onward, trying to get to her aerobics class on time. The sun continued to rise, it's gold reflection gleaming off the river. I snuck into an open gate and made my way behind a building where I was able to find a place to stand and take pictures of the ascending ball of fire. A family of three floated in a large canoe, pulling in their catch for the day.

I got my fill of photos and rode onward up the street toward the palace. I stopped to observe the activity: people playing badminton and soccer, people practicing tai chi, jogging, etc. A large group of people gathered near a small indoor shrine, giving their offerings. I pedaled onward up the street, trying to take in all of the action.

I finished my bike ride and met Lauren. We began our ride home, stopping at a small mart to buy some shampoo and conditioner. We were about one minute away from our house when a gang of bikers rode up next to us. One man looked over at us and asked us if we'd like to join them for a ride. "Uhh, sure! Why not?"

These guys were legitimate. They had bikes with the all-terrain tires, helmets, and gloves. A couple of them were wearing matching jerseys. "Where are we going?"

"Up over the bridge."

We rode south on Norodom until we came to the bridge that crosses the river. We climbed up the slope and descended into Kandal province. Another twenty or thirty minutes of riding and chatting passed and we were well out into the villages. The team stopped before they rode on into another village; Lauren and I decided it was time for us to turn around and head back. We snapped a few photos with our fellow bikers, not wanting to forget the experience.

We got back to the house and ate breakfast. I was sweating like a sinner in church and decided it was high time to take a cold shower. I let Lauren go first and read while I patiently waited for her to finish.

"Andee!" Om yelled from just outside the door. "Lauren!"

I jumped off the bed and opened the door, wondering what she wanted. Om was standing on the stairs, watching a mini waterfall descend from under the bathroom door, all over the upper floor and off the landing to the stairs below.

"Uhh, Lauren?" I said in a semi-shocked voice.

"Oh no, is there water all over the floor out there?"

I glanced down the stairs to the floor below, trying to estimate the size of the lake that was forming. "Yeah, just a little bit …"

I walked down the stairs, being careful to not slip and break my neck. The kitchen floor was covered in water. Om promptly handed me a dustpan and hand brush, a silent gesture of "get to work". Twenty minutes later the mess was cleaned up.

This afternoon Mike, Lauren, and I made a pilgrimage to find somewhere to get a massage. The "Seeing Hands" massage place was booked for the next few hours, so we decided to head to the pool a little early. We biked over to the Olympic Complex and, after a little searching, found somewhere to park our bikes and made our way to the pool.

The locker rooms, maybe not surprisingly, were meant for everyone to use. I walked in hesitantly, keeping my eyes on the floor just in case there was a chance of seeing something I didn't want to see. We walked into the changing area, nothing more than stalls with wood swinging doors on each side of each cell. I hurried into one of them, my eyes going in constant circular motions from one door, to the ceiling where spiders the size of Texas dangled, to the other door, and back again. The stalls were obviously made for the short stature of Cambodians; my eyes were almost able to peek over the top of the doors.

Finally I was changed and I made my way out to the pool area, completely avoiding the sign commanding us to shower before we got into the pool. Pff, I don't even do that in the United States. There's no chance that they're going to regulate that here.

"Go shower." I was rejected thirty seconds into being in the pool area by a Cambodian employee. Seriously? As annoyed as I am that I have to walk back into that dungeon of a locker room, props to Cambodia. Way to succeed in something that America sucks at!

Lauren and I scuttled back to the locker room, rinsed off, and then booked our way over to the area with the diving boards. We took a couple of hops off the lowest boards, got bored, and made our way up to the 10-meter platform.

I eyed the water. It sure is a lot higher from up here. I glanced at the "lifeguard" sitting underneath a weathered umbrella by the pool. Would he even be able to get me out of the water, let alone save my life, if something went terribly wrong? A few minutes passed until finally we took the plunge.

We went on swimming and jumping off the lower platform. Lauren did a lot of the diving that she had been trained to do in high school, so I sat and watched on the side in awe. A Cambodian boy of probably 13 or 14 years of age needed help getting out of the pool, so we lent him a hand. He kind of stuck with us the rest of the afternoon, dragging me to go with him off the first platform a few times. At one point he disappeared and came back a few minutes later.

"Madame!" He called to me. "Cigarette?" he said smilingly, holding up a fresh new pack.

Umm, did I just get offered a cigarette by a pubescent boy? All those times I learned in school to "just say no", I thought for sure I would be getting offered narcotics by someone much older than me. Now look at where I am.

I kindly declined as Tuni added, "And you shouldn't either!" The boy went and sat on a bench, going at the pack like Puff the Magic Dragon.

My mind immediately flashed back to the conversation I had with Sareth:

"No, no regulations. Anybody can buy alcohol or cigarettes, it doesn't matter what age you are. The people who sell only care about the money, they don't care about health … Many children drink and smoke …"

I watched him as he dragged on the cigarette. Who knows if he was even aware that smoking was bad for him. Is this type of thing looked down upon in Cambodian culture? I know that people will sell cigarettes and alcohol to anyone because all they care about is money, but what about other people? Surely there has to be someone out there who thinks this isn't a good idea...

[Sunrise.]

[Lauren and me with our awesome biker gang.]

[The pool with diving boards and platforms.]

Cambodia: Day 74

Thursday, July 21st, 2011

RACHA Office

3:40 PM

My report is ready for editing. My power point is basically done. Despite the near-completeness of those projects, I still feel stressed. I have homework to do, final research papers to get started on, and books that need to be read. So, instead of doing any of those things, I'm going to write in my journal. Seems logical enough, right?

Well, I have exactly one month until I return to the Motherland. I have mixed feelings about this particular situation. I've been in this country for two-and-a-half months and managed to traverse many of its regions, and yet I still feel like I haven't done anything. I think I feel this way because I haven't finished what I came here to do. Don't ask me what that is, though. I'm still not sure myself. Maybe once I'm in the airplane, looking down on the Cambodian countryside (assuming I have a window seat) that I have come to love so much, it will all hit me. I'll reminisce on everything that I've seen and experienced and come to find that I achieved what I wanted to.

In the meantime, I'm just trying to survive. I'm not just talking about surviving the torture of having to sit behind a desk for eight hours every day, either. I'm talking about survival in the fact that I take my life into my own hands every time I ride my bike to work (or anywhere else for that matter). I was riding back to work from my lunch break, just minding my own business as I merged (like a professional merger, may I add) into the left turning lane. A barrage of honks came from behind me, a normal occurrence in Cambodian traffic. People normally honk not to be rude, but just to let you know that they're there. Anyway, I kept pedaling until out of the corner of my right eye I saw the front grill of a large truck passing me.

What is he thinking?! There's no way that he and I are both going to fit in that small space between the median and the cars in the other lanes …

He kept going, though. I immediately slowed down until I was almost brought to a complete stop, nearly getting nicked as the driver merged over in front of me. Had I kept riding, I would have been toast. I got the urge to kick the truck as it passed, but controlled myself as I noticed the truck was marked "police". I wasn't in the mood to argue over a fine. Instead I glared at the driver in his side view mirror as he continued to drive away as if nothing had happened.

Nothing makes me want to curse more than Cambodian traffic. The rules are different here, that's for sure, and I've been able to adapt pretty well to the cultural differences. There are still certain things that are frustrating for me, though. I would try to explain them here, but I would need a white board to adequately illustrate my frustration. Let's just say that getting cut-off is a common occurrence, and just because you're in the left hand turn lane doesn't mean someone's not going to come up around you on the left to pass.

Oh, and cutting off people isn't limited to traffic. I can't tell you how many times I've been butted in front of while I've been waiting in line. I should start keeping a tally of how many times a day I have to remind myself that it's "just their culture" ...

[This is my beloved bike. We've been through a lot. It will be sad when we have to part ways in a month ...]

Cambodia: Day 71

Monday, July 18th, 2011

Phnom Penh

Things are going well in the office. I'm actually enjoying the work I'm doing with my report. It's fun to see it all come together. I've also realized something about myself: I really like to make charts, especially those of the pie type. I know, I'm a dork, but being out of school for this long forces me to be creative in the ways that I express my nerdiness.

I came home for lunch Monday afternoon. To my pleasant surprise, my bike had been fixed. Om found someone in the neighborhood to fix it for a dollar. I promptly paid her, plus paid her the 2000 Riel (or fifty cents) I owed her for my laundry. There was a little discussion about the money for laundry as I tried to explain to her the best I could why I was only paying her 2000 Riel instead of 12,000.

I went back to work early to continue working on my report, thinking it was all cleared up. Later I got a text from Lauren; apparently Om thought I was cheating her out of three dollars for the laundry. She had gone over to Sophorn's to tell her to talk to me about it, and then went to Lauren to ask her to try to convince me to pay, as well. It was a little nerve wracking; I don't really want to be on the bad side of the person who makes my food. I assumed it was all just a big misunderstanding, though, and decided I'd wait for Sophorn to come to me.

After work, Tuni and I met Lauren at the home of the Ellsworth's. April had kindly invited us over for dinner and FHE. I was very excited as I walked into the spacious home, welcomed by the smell of baking coming from the kitchen. I set my stuff down when I felt something familiar on my feet.

Is that … Is that CARPET?! It hit me that it had been over two months since I'd felt carpet on my feet. It was inviting, much more so than the cold tile that makes up the floors in almost every home in Phnom Penh. It's decided. When I get home, I'm going to eat a bowl of cereal while laying on the carpet in my living room. It will be glorious.

We helped prepare dinner a little bit and then President Ellsworth gave us a tour of the house. It was HUGE, yet another thing that I was not used to. The stairs were actually big enough to scale up and down with ease; I didn't have to waddle like a penguin like in Om's house. Toys were splayed out all over the place, acting as little reminders that a childhood was being created.

Dinner time came. All twelve of us sat down around the large dining room table. The food was spread before us: baked chicken, cheesy onion bread, and rice. It was so nice to consume something that wasn't fried or drenched in oil. My food was finished and I stared in disbelief at my plate, which was oil puddle free. It's about time my heart gets a break.

We finished the night off by watching the Gordon B. Hinckley movie and eating cookies. The boys played in a large blanket fort that took up the entire living room. I don't know how to explain it, but it was nice to be able to spend some time with a family. Don't get me wrong, Om is great, but she doesn't exactly give off the "family vibe". Sure, I get to spend time at Tuni's house where a family of four lives, but they're hardly home.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that being at the Ellsworth's was familiar. It was something that I could somewhat relate to, something that reminded me of home.

Cambodia: Day 61

Friday, July 8th, 2011

Om's House in Phnom Penh

9:22 PM

Sometimes I wonder if Om is schizophrenic.

You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.

I got home from my internship today (I'll get to that later) and let myself in. Om was spending the day at a pagoda in one of the provinces, so I came back to a very empty and dark house. I promptly made my way to my room where I proceeded to fall asleep on my disgustingly pink floral bed. Forty minutes later I was awakened by someone jamming their keys into the front door. Om was home.

I laid on my bed, fading in and out of sleep, trying to pull myself back into my most recent dream. That attempt, however, was rudely interrupted by Om's boisterous voice echoing from the kitchen downstairs. No one else was home that I was aware of. She was speaking in her native tongue, so she certainly wasn't talking to me. I could hear the sound of dishes being clanked together, causing her to increase the volume of her voice.

Maybe she's talking to one of her ancestors …

My stomach eventually coaxed me out of bed and I went downstairs to eat. Om was laying on her side on her wood bench, her arms outstretched to Srei Poi who was giving her a manicure. I grabbed some rice from the large rice maker on the floor and proceeded to sit down at the table by myself. I faced the wall, listening to Om saying things in a commanding tone from the other side of the room, no response coming from Srei Poi.

Maybe Om isn't schizophrenic, but I'm certain that she is the cranky old woman of the neighborhood. It's funny, I thought that those females only existed in the States, but I'm coming to find that it's a universal attribute of any type of community. Om sits at her gate in several minute increments, monitoring the activity of the street in front of her home. Many times I have seen her yell at people out of my line of sight. Well, at least I hope she was yelling at actual people. With her possibility of being schizophrenic, you can never be too sure.

As for my internship, today was a first. I actually felt like an intern! After talking to Dr. Juliette yesterday, I got to work analyzing my data on Excel. I had to go through each survey individually and copy the information to a spreadsheet. I started after I did my morning web chores and worked up until it was time to leave for lunch. I was a little dismayed, for I was barely at the halfway mark when I went home to eat, but it was a start. My ultimate goal is to have my entire report finished in two weeks, but that might be a tall order at this rate.

Mike met us after we finished eating and we went to the market that Jeni showed us on Tuesday. I went back to the secondhand shoe vendors, hoping to get my hands on some of the heels I'd been eyeing the last time I'd been there. Unfortunately, my search proved unfruitful. I have never been so frustrated to have big feet! It's not even like my feet are that big, either. I wear a size 9, sometimes a 9.5, but I could barely scrunch my toes into anything I came across. I can't tell you how many times I walked up to a vendor and was greeted by fingers pointing to my feet, the women saying, "Tom-tom!" Big.

No, I don't have big feet. You have small feet. My feet are perfectly normal! Now point me to where there are shoes that will actually fit these things!

Unfortunately, many of the shoes they pointed me to looked like they belonged to an eighty-year-old librarian or cat lady. I passed.

I'm joking about being bothered, of course. I can't enter a foreign country and all of a sudden expect the people there to automatically be able to cater to my needs or wants. The women were actually quite kind, and I'm glad I could give them a good laugh as I tried on pair after pair in vain. I know that they were wishing, just as much as I was, that for the moment I would have slightly smaller feet. One woman was especially helpful, grabbing the biggest sizes she had and bending over to force them on me.

We headed back to the office at two. I sat at my desk for a substantial amount of time before I finally got myself to power through my last stack of surveys. I headed home with Tuni at 5:30, ready for a power nap.

Cambodia: Day 56

Monday, July 4th, 2011

RACHA Child Health and Nutrition Unit, Phnom Penh

9:44 AM

Yesterday I woke up feeling like a new person. The queasiness was gone and I was so excited to be able to attend church.

At 3 PM, Lauren, Tuni, and I met up with Jeni at the US Embassy to volunteer for their annual Independence Day celebration. The front of the embassy made me feel like I was about to get on a plane; body scanners and guards with detection wands stood around, checking everyone that was coming in.

We passed through security and made our way through the steel doors into the complex. I immediately felt like I was back in the States. The ground was free of debris, all of the signs were in English, and old school American rock was playing . My assignment was to take tickets at the front gate, but my shift didn't start until 5:15, so Tuni and I wandered aimlessly for a few hours. We weaved in and out of the booths, stopping to take pictures by the first drinking fountain we'd seen in months. I might have mildly freaked out when I found a booth that was giving out free Tootsie Rolls.

It was almost reverse culture shock for me. Mixed in with the professionals were hippies and hipsters. Hippies and hipsters! I never thought I'd be so excited to see them. Guys dressed in popped collars, khaki shorts, black Ray Bans and boat shoes paraded around, making me feel like I was in a movie. What is happening to me? These people actually exist?!

It was time for the color guard to present the colors, so the four of us made our way over to the designated area to get a good spot. Craig, our boss-man for the day, asked us if we'd help clear the area. "You're volunteers, they'll listen to you."

We followed through with orders, herding people about like cattle. At one point I stood in front of a line, making sure that nobody got any funny ideas to break the rank. A short, grey-haired woman in a floral dress stood nearby, separated from the rest of the people. At one point she turned to me and asked, "Could you step back a few feet?"

Listen, woman. Can you read the back of my shirt? It says "VOLUNTEER". You know what that means? It means I have power, and as any respectable Spiderman fan knows, with great power comes great responsibility. YOU, my friend, are the one who needs to step back a few feet.

"Yeah, sure."

I watched as the color guards appeared and stood right in front of the woman. I was so confused as to who she was. Maybe she's the choral conductor of the people on the stage? No, her arms aren't flailing around …

Once the ceremony was over, I made my way over to the first aid table to retrieve my bag. The woman proceeded to the stage to give a speech. Turns out she's the ambassador.

Her words were a little awkward, absent of the confidence that typically comes with someone whose career is based in diplomacy. I stood by the table, wondering if anyone else was thinking the same thing as me. She said her peace, stepped off the stage and began walking straight toward us. I saved her the need to tell me to move again and stepped to the side.

"Nobody touch my beer," she grumbled as she leaned over the table, grabbing a half-empty bottle of ale. She turned around and leaned against the table between Lauren and I, nursing her bottle. One of the hosts of the event announced that cake was going to be handed out within the hour.

"Free cake and beer! Woo hoo!" the ambassador yelled, throwing her drink in the air like a rowdy college student. I reeled on the spot. Did that really just happen?

Thankfully it was time for Tuni and I to take our shift at the front. I moved away from the woman, trying to not make any sudden movements that might trigger a social catastrophe. We made our way to the front, got trained for about two minutes on our job, and then set to work.

It's amazing how much my mind is configured to Cambodian culture now. I kept saying "ahkun" to people instead of "thank you", even though it was obvious that they came straight from America. I'd offer and receive tickets and ID with two hands. Man, if I’m this heavily influenced now, I can't imagine what it's going to be like when I go home.

Just a note to anyone who is reading this: if I see you in the future and greet you by sompeahing and saying "sok sabaay", just slap me.

[Inside the gates of the embassy.]

["Cambodia Democrats Abroad". Who knew?]

[Just practicing.]

[(From left to right) Lauren, me, Tuni, and Jeni.]

[The Treaty of Guadalupe.]

[View of Wat Phnom from the entrance to the embassy.]

Cambodia: Days 54 & 55

Saturday, July 2nd, 2011

Tuni's Host House in Phnom Penh

9:52 PM

I have learned things in the last 24 hours that I never thought I'd learn, especially in Cambodia.

#1. Nothing can hold me back from a good dance party.

#2. I have a keen eye for finding places to puke.

#3. I always thought I'd never be able to puke in public, but sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.

#4. Nigerian dancing is SO FUN.

#5. Being sick forces you to not procrastinate because working on your paper is better than lying on your deathbed while you stare up at the ceiling for hours on end.

Try and keep up as I attempt to explain.

Yesterday started out like any other "normal" day. I woke up, ate breakfast, and made my way across the street to Tuni's house to use the internet. After doing my web chores (e.g. checking my email, browsing Facebook, updating my blog, checking my email again, browsing Facebook for another half hour, and then repeating the process eleventy billion more times. Yeah, don't act like you don't do it, either.), I set to work on the papers that I had been procrastinating like a champ. I worked through the usual afternoon thunderstorm, only going home once to eat lunch. Before I knew it, it was nearly dark outside, signaling that it was time to eat dinner.

Lars and I gathered at the table, eating our Khmer dinner of steamed rice, pineapple, beef, and greens. Once finished, we retreated to our air conditioned room upstairs to enjoy some down time before heading out to the clubs.

Yes, you heard that right.

I was laying on our bed, playing sudoku and listening to music when the food in my stomach began to get confused. It couldn't make up it's mind of whether it wanted to go up or down. Maybe I just ate too much ...

Plans were confirmed. We were set to meet up at Club Spark with everyone else at 9:30 PM. I got changed for the occasion, hoping that my stomach would come to a final verdict before I left. Unfortunately for me, though, no decision was reached, so I hopped on the tuk-tuk in hopes that things would change as the night went on.

We pulled up to the club, a couple of security guards standing outside the door. Shoot, was I supposed to bring my ID? I'm underage, I won't be able to get in! We walked up to the door and were waved through, no questions asked. What was I thinking? This is Cambodia. They could care less about age.

Club Spark proved to be a dud. Granted, 9:30 PM is pretty early for the clubbing world (so I've heard. This isn't something that I do on a regular basis, trust me), but that's when Desmond wanted to meet, so we just went with it. We sat around for a good half hour inside the club, waiting for everyone to show up. Jeni eventually suggested we go find somewhere outside to hang out while we waited for things to liven up.

We found a place to buy some food nearby. I began to feel worse than I had and decided I needed to buy some water. I sat at a table, sipping on a bottle when I felt overwhelmingly tired. I laid my head down on the table, Jeni and Tuni asking me if everything was ok.

"You don' t look very good."

"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine."

Next thing I knew, I was in the bushes in the parking lot, puking my guts out. A couple of security guards stood nearby, watching me. These guys undoubtedly think I'm plastered, and it's only 10 PM. What a way to start the night.

Despite my embarrassing display, I immediately felt one-hundred percent better as I walked back to the table. Well, at least I thought I was one-hundred percent better. Thirty minutes passed and I was in the bathroom, puking again.

Our next stop was at a club near the riverfront. I wasn't sure how I'd react to the atmosphere, especially with suddenly being sick, but I really wanted to see what it was like.

We made our way into a small room where people were packed in like sardines. Luckily our small group was able to find some safe space to move. I immediately felt better as I began to dance; anyone who knows me knows that I love a good dance party, and this one was long overdue.

At one point I found myself stepping on someone's foot. I turned around to find an older white man and young Cambodian girl dancing in a manner that was a little too close for comfort. It was pretty much PDA at it's finest. Or worst, depending on your view of the matter. Normally I would have felt bad for stepping on the toes of someone else, but I'm not a big fan of that type of behavior, so I went on like nothing happened. Maybe that was rude of me, maybe it wasn't. Let's face it though, he probably didn't even notice.

I joined Tuni out in the sitting area, watching people conduct themselves in various social situations that were foreign to me. Maybe it was my queasy stomach that led me to this conclusion, but in that moment I decided that clubbing probably wasn't the thing for me. I love to dance, there's no doubt, but not necessarily in that type of atmosphere.

Desmond and Paul found us and told us we were going to be moving on to another establishment. This place was actually a Nigerian restaurant and dance club, geared towards Africans who are more permanently settled in Phnom Penh. I never realized that there was a large enough African population in Cambodia for such a place, but apparently there is. A majority of them play soccer in a Cambodian league, including Desmond and Paul. I wasn't feeling too good, but this was a great opportunity to be a part of a culture that I had not had the opportunity to be a part of before. My curiosity got the best of me and I agreed to go.

I wasn't feeling up to dancing, so Tuni and I sat in the restaurant and watched Wimbledon while the rest of the crew went inside. Rafa was kicking Andy Murray's butt well into the third set when Desmond came out and begged me to go inside for five minutes. Wanting to finish watching the match, I reluctantly got up and followed him in, my stomach churning. Once I heard the music, though, I quickly forgot about my conflicted digestive system and began dancing. This particular dance floor was much nicer, with a lot more space to move and better music than the last one. They taught me some traditional Nigerian moves, laughing while I attempted to do what they did. It was so much fun!

About ten minutes passed and I was beginning to get very thirsty, so I went back out to join Tuni in the sitting area. I plopped down in a chair and watched the conclusion of the match, my stomach returning to its conflicted state. I was exhausted. The combination of stress that comes from being sick, the vomiting, and the constant motion from dancing was proving to be a little more than I could handle.Guarantee I'd fall asleep right in this very spot if they only gave me a pillow.

Nope, scratch that. Here it comes again. I ran outside to the street and made my way to the other side near some stacks of trash. I would go into detail, but I think you have an idea of what happened next.

I walked back into the restaurant, defeated. I was ready to throw in the towel. "I'm going to head back now." Thankfully everyone agreed it was time to go home, so we grabbed a tuk-tuk and made our way back to Om's house.

Needless to say, the contents of my stomach continued to flow before I went to bed and then after I woke up this morning. I slumped my way to Tuni's house to finish my second paper and to Skype my parents to let them know I wasn't feeling too hot. I've been laying on Tuni's bed all day, stressing over my paper and taking short breaks to sip on Sprite and sleep. Thankfully I have Nurse Tuni; she put me on a basic ORT (oral rehydration therapy) regimen. She's going to be a great mom someday.

And that brings me to this point. I've finished my paper, downed two Sprites and a Coke, pounded water like a champ, and managed to hold down some bread. Things are looking up!

[This is me chugging a 1500 mL bottle of water. Snaps for staying hydrated!]

Cambodia: Day 53

Friday, July 1st, 2011

Om Loon's House in Phnom Penh

8:40 AM

I know you're thinking I'm going to go on a rant about what I did yesterday. Well, I'll have you know that I did nothing. I think I sat and stared at my computer screen for a good four hours, trying to get myself to do my homework.

Yes, I have to do homework. What, did you think I was just on vacation or something? Pff, boy were you wrong!

Naturally I didn't really start it. I attempted to read one of my assigned articles, but only got through the first sentence when I realized that it was WAY over my head. I think it's generally not a good sign when you have a twenty page article to read and the first sentence takes you half an hour to (somewhat) digest.

I headed home that evening for dinner, hoping that I'd get a chance to lock myself in my comfortable air conditioned room and finally get going on my homework. Jeni and Lauren came walking in ten minutes later, though, and I yet again fell victim to distraction.

Now fast forward to three in the morning. I was sleeping comfortably on my half of the bed, more than likely dreaming about riding a road bike through Phnom Penh while eating a bowl of cereal. Man, if only I could multitask like that. Think of how efficient I'd be! Suddenly I was stirred from my slumber to a feeling of something tickling the back of my left knee. I quickly probed the area with my right foot and found nothing. Maybe it was my blanket …

I attempted to go back to sleep, but I knew something was awry when I heard a loud buzzing noise coming from the direction of the wall. Is that my computer? No … The air conditioning? No, that's not it either …

By this time I was on my back, slightly more awake, trying to figure out the situation. Something dropped from the ceiling near the window on to the bed and disappeared.

Oh. Heck. No. I watched in utter horror as the outline of a cockroach the size of Texas began climbing up the windowsill. I dashed out of bed and grabbed my flashlight, trying my best to keep calm and not wake Lauren up. I searched the area for the cockroach until I found it resting on top of the drape. It made an attempt to fly, causing me to quietly yelp and run to the other side of the room. It quickly landed on my side of the bed and made its pursuit up the wall, following the same pattern as before.

After another attempt at taking flight, the cockroach landed on the bed and decided to change course. I cringed as I watched it scuttle towards Lauren and up her legs to her chest.

I whispered as loud as I could, trying my best to not wake Srei Poi outside. "Lauren! Lauren! Lauren!" She opened her eyes blinkingly and stared at me, confused at my insistent need to wake her up. "There's a giant bug on you!"

She stared back at me, a little more awake, but still confused; my words obviously hadn't sunk in yet.

"There's a giant bug on you!"

"Where?"

"On your chest!"

Her eyes became as round as dinner plates. She made a quick flicking movement with her hand, and two seconds later the cockroach was spinning in circles on the floor. She jumped out of bed. We stared at the struggling cockroach and considered the situation, trying to analyze what to do next.

Then, like a giant light bulb, I had the solution.

"Kill it! Kill it! KILL IT!"

"I need a shoe!"

"My tennis shoes are right there!" I said, pointing at my shelf.

Lauren grabbed my shoe. I pointed the light. And then, in one fluid motion, the deed was done.

We left the smashed cockroach on the ground, a flattened monument symbolizing the fact that we had claimed the victory in the battle. We climbed back into bed and I couldn't help but laugh out loud at what had just transpired.

I closed my eyes and turned my mind back into sleep mode. That attempt, however, was short lived as I heard a noise coming from Lauren's side of the bed.

"Are … are you hiccuping?"

"Yeah …"

"Generally you get scared to get rid of the hiccups, not to get the hiccups."

What an odd night.

Cambodia: Day 52

Thursday, June 30th, 2011

Sophorn's House

11:42 AM

Yesterday was my last day doing field work. I woke up in the morning excited to be finishing up my surveys, ready to get back to Phnom Penh and started on my report.

Lauren and I sat on the side of the road in front of the guest house while we waited for Sareth to pick us up. We had a long conversation about high school, especially in regard to awkward dates and people who were just awkward in general. In hindsight, I've come to realize that I was probably the awkward one. I just hope that I've changed my ways since then.

But let's be honest, I probably haven't.

I still can't believe that I've been graduated for two years now. I honestly feel like I had the perfect high school career, with amazing friends who were very low-key and avoided drama like the plague. In many aspects high school seems like it was just yesterday, especially when I think about the good times I had. I've found, however, that I more often than not feel like high school was a lifetime ago. The experiences I've had since I've graduated have made me feel older, wiser, and more independent.

Sounds like something an immature person would say, don't you think?

There's no doubt that I still have a lot of growing up to do. I mean, I'm only nineteen! But I have learned things in college that I could have never learned in high school. For one thing, I have a better idea of the kind of person I am. More importantly, though, I have a better idea of what I want to become …

Sareth showed up around 7:30 AM. We hopped in the back of the RACHA/USAID car and made our way to the first village, flying past field workers the entire thirty minutes it took to get there. The village was a large one, with about 1000 inhabitants. We walked from home to home, interviewing women until it was about 10 AM. I hit my quota, ninety women, and called it good. We made our way back to the vehicle; I sat in the back seat and sipped on chocolate soy milk while Sareth figured out what was next on our schedule.

Due to Sareth's English skills, I was able to ask him the few burning questions I had.

"Do many men smoke here?"

"Yeah, most of the men do."

"What about the women?"

"They don't smoke." Most of the older women chew tobacco; thankfully that particular habit is becoming more uncommon for younger women.

"Are there any types of regulations that are put on cigarettes or alcohol in Cambodia? In the United States you have to be at least 21 …"

"No, no regulations. Anybody can buy alcohol or cigarettes, it doesn't matter what age you are. The people who sell only care about the money, they don't care about health … Many children drink and smoke …"

Although there isn't any regulation of the purchasing of narcotics, the Cambodian government has taken a few steps to try to improve the situation: they've banned cigarette ads from TV and other forms of media …

That's about it.

We stuck around the village to watch a quick health seminar put on by Sareth and one of the VHSG's before heading back to the city center. An older Cambodian man (who had teeth eerily similar to Gollum from LOTR) sat in a hammock nearby, staring at us and talking about us with the driver. I only knew that because he kept saying "barang" in his conversation, the Khmer word for "white person" or European.

Luckily we were able to catch a bus back to Phnom Penh that afternoon in time for the branch activity. I sat on the bus next to the window, my head jerking back and forth as I fell in and out of sleep. Wait, why does my arm suddenly feel all wet? Rain was pouring outside the mobile tin can and leaking through the window. This is what you get when you only pay $2.50 for a bus ticket...

[Sareth and me.]

[Don't worry, Mom. I was very tempted to send this baby home, but I resisted.]

Cambodia: Day 51

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Prey Veng

4:27 PM

Have you ever had one of those days where you wake up one person and go to bed someone different?

Today was definitely one of those days.

I began my day at 6:30 AM. We got ready and walked down the street in search of somewhere to eat breakfast before heading out with RACHA. We were able to find a small restaurant in a shack; we knew it was a good place to eat because a handful of locals were already dining there. There weren't any menus, so we just ordered rice and pork. It was simple, but delicious. On our way back we were intercepted by a RACHA car that took us to the hotel to grab our stuff and then back to the office where we parted ways.

I talked to one of the head guys at the office while I waited for Sareth to arrive. Ten minutes passed and we were on our way. I sat in the back of the car, making small talk with Sareth as picturesque acres of rice paddies and palm trees passed outside my window. People were hard at work plowing their fields and transplanting the rice stalks. Sareth turned around in his seat to face me and asked, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I replied smilingly, encouraging him to go on.

"How many siblings do you have?"

I promptly answered his question, "Only one brother."

He proceeded to tell me that he came from a very large family with eleven kids, fourteen people in total. "Only three of them survived the Khmer Rouge."

I was dumbfounded. My heart dropped. Only three survived? I asked how he survived, and he proceeded to tell me his story…

He was born and raised in Phnom Penh. When the Khmer Rouge took over Phnom Penh, he and his family were moved to Battambang. I estimate that he was about ten years old. When they were sent to work in Battambang, he was assigned to be an animal keeper; his job was to watch the cows and other grazing animals to make sure they didn't get into the rice crops. There were four animal keepers, one assigned to each direction (north, south, east, and west). His older brother was given the same assignment.

One day, a few animals got into one of the rice paddies and ate some of the crops. Sareth's older brother took the blame and told the soldiers it was his fault. What did the Khmer Rouge do? They tied his elbows together behind his back and pushed him into the river, right in front of Sareth's face.

Sareth watched his brother die. He had no choice, there was nothing he could have done to save him. Sure, he could have tried to stop the soldiers, but they would have surely killed him, as well.

As for his other family members, I only got the stories of two of them. His father, like many of the other prisoners, were assigned to labor in the fields. His father grew ill, and without the proper medicine to treat his infirmity, he passed away. A case like this was very common in the camps; people were worked too hard, had little to nothing to eat, got sick, and died because there was no way to treat them.

His sister was married with a few children. While in the camp, the soldiers found out that she had been married to a Lon Nol soldier back in Phnom Penh. Since Lon Nol was one of the top enemies of the Khmer Rouge, anyone that was associated with that particular regime was killed without question. Such was the unfortunate fate of her and her children.

I didn't know what to say. There wasn't anything I could say. An overwhelming feeling overcame me as I considered the fact that I had never been taught anything about the Khmer Rouge in school. It pains me to know that I probably would have never known about the atrocities that occurred under Pol Pot's regime had I not signed up for this internship.

I was lost in thought as we continued on our journey to the food distribution. I was able to, with Sareth's help, interview eighteen women throughout the morning. A crowd gathered everywhere we went. I would like to say I'm used to dozens of pairs of eyes being on me, but I'm still not.

The distribution ended and about fifteen of us gathered to eat lunch. The VHSG had made all of us a meal with various components: sticky rice, steamed rice, fried fish, eggs and ginger, bamboo and frog, field crab, the list went on and on. It was delicious. It was so amazing to be able to eat what the villagers eat and be in their company. I loved every moment of it.

Cambodia: Day 47

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Om Loon's in Phnom Penh

10:13 PM

Yesterday morning we embarked on an adventure to Kirirum, a national park southwest of Phnom Penh. I didn't know much about it beforehand; all I knew was that there was a waterfall. Although waterfalls are pretty cool, I sometimes get the feeling that once you've seen one waterfall, you've seen them all. Either way, I was still pretty excited to go on the trip. I love a good hike.

We met at the church building and piled into a large van, Eng in the front passenger seat and a large Cambodian man at the helm. Like a lot of Cambodian men I've seen, this guy had a gnarly patch of hair growing from a mole on his chin. According to Cambodian culture, facial hair growing from a mole is a sign of luck.

I'm not sure if I'd be willing to trade "luck" for such an atrocious facial feature. But hey, that's just me.

I don’t know what was going on with the man at the wheel, but he seemed to have a mission to get to Kirirum in as fast a manner as possible. He was driving all over the road, straight into oncoming traffic on multiple occasions, honking his horn at anyone who was within a ten foot radius of our vehicle. I can't tell you how many times I looked up from my seat just behind Eng to find a semi heading straight for us.We're going to die!

Despite the onslaught of oncoming traffic, we arrived in Kirirum that afternoon safe and sound. We had just enough time to change into our swimsuits before we were loaded into ox carts for a quick ride to the trailhead. Spencer, Kaitlin, Eng, and the Cambodian commander were in one while Tuni, Lauren, Mike, and I were piled in the other.

In retrospect, I feel like riding those ox carts was something that we did just to say that we did it. I mean, it's not like the path was so terrible that we only had the option of the ox carts; on the contrary, the path was perfectly fine, and I'm pretty sure I could have walked it faster than the speed we were going in the carts. Not to mention, I would have been spared the threat of getting lime disease by the blood-sucking ticks that were latched to the oxen.

It's all for the experience, Andee. All for the experience.

About ten minutes passed and we were at the trailhead. Dense jungle surrounded us, the sounds of frogs and crickets emanating from the depths. Every so often I'd feel webbing on one or more extremities of my body, forcing me to stop and make sure there weren't any spiders attached. A half hour later, we came up over a ridge and I found myself viewing of one of the most beautiful waterfalls I'd ever seen. Needless to say, I immediately took back my notion that all waterfalls are the same.

We hiked down the ridge to a giant pile of boulders that formed the base of the waterfall. Cold spray from the force of the water graced our presence. I pulled out a camera and got to work documenting the scene while the rest of the pack made their attempts to get closer to the steady stream of water diving over the cliff. I would have followed, but I've had bad experiences with slippery rocks. I decided this was not the occasion to take a trip down memory lane. Literally.

The sun started to sink in the sky and we decided to head back. Surprisingly, and maybe a little disappointingly, the ox carts were still waiting for us when we got back to the trailhead. I hopped inside the cart and squished my legs to my chest as Mike, Tuni, and the large-and-in-charge Cambodian driver took their spots. While riding back, I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the present situation. We hit rock after rock, bumping all over the place as the driver swore in Khmer under his breath.

We ate a scrumptious dinner of rice, bamboo, fried noodles, and stew. We set up camp in a one room stilted home, secluded from the hustle and bustle of the city. Eng, Mike, and the driver slept underneath the home while the rest of us sought refuge beneath bright blue mosquito nets and paper-thin mattresses inside. Cards were played, a movie was watched, and then it was time to sleep.

Well, at least I thought it was time for sleep. Between the demon gecko that was scurrying around the walls, the snoring Cambodian driver, and my fear of getting raped by mosquitoes and other insects, sleep wasn't really an option.

Despite the lack of sleep, I loved the experience. I definitely came to a greater appreciation of the lifestyle that rural Cambodians live. Their simplicity of life made it easy to forget all of my worries and allowed me to just live in the moment, something that I definitely need to integrate into my everyday lifestyle.

[Lauren and I on the ox cart. This was a candid shot, just in case you couldn't tell.]

[Mike, Lauren, Tuni, and me on the ox cart headed up to the trail head.]

[This is where we slept. Or attempted to sleep.]

[This is the house we stayed in.]

[Me after my not-so-good night's sleep. Still smiling!]