Rain Day

Despite my claims that rainy season has ended, there are still occasional showers that make life unpredictable. Last week the weather in Cambodia once again threw me for a loop. (Forgive me if I've turned into an old lady, talking about the weather all the time.)

One night last week we had a powerful storm (lying in my bed I got sprinkled because my window wasn't closed tight enough and the rain came in through the cracks between boards in the wall). The storm kept up through the morning. I didn't really want to go to school in the rain but it's my job so I put on my skirt and biked reluctantly to the school. When I got there, I found that only about a quarter to a third of the students had shown up that morning. About the same proportion of teachers showed. The teachers, after seeing the half-full classrooms, decided they couldn't teach, as they would simply need to do the lessons over again when all the students returned. So all the teachers hung out under the eaves in front of the school office, chatting. Once the students realized that there would be no instruction, they drifted away as well, slowly riding their bikes and motos out of the schoolyard and back to their homes. Once the teachers felt that the students were gone for good, we left as well. By the time the sun came out around 9 o'clock, the schoolyard was empty.

Frustrating? Of course. After all, we live in Cambodia. It rains here. Students can't just skip school every time it rains: they'd never learn anything. But somehow just enough truancy was involved on all sides so that the teachers could blame the students (for not coming) and the students could blame the teachers (for not teaching). Since my coteacher had left by the time I got to school, and he was the one with the copies of the test we were to give that day, I decided not to make a point by teaching my half-empty classroom. I just let it go and drifted away myself, complicit in the students' and teachers' one-day escape.

Dedicatin' the Library

Work on the new library at my school is scheduled to begin soon, so we had a ceremony last week to bless the undertaking. There was a school assembly where officials gave speeches and a dancer performed a traditional Khmer dance. I was told that she is supposed to look like a peacock, with the feathers in her hair and her delicate hand movements.



I have no idea what the scarf is for. But it sure is purdy.

Wintertiii-iiime

The weather in Cambodia has finally broken. It's cool season now, and the temperature here falls into the range of Tropical Paradise. It's balmy; breezy; temperate, even.

Not that I want to seem ungrateful for all this, but....well, the drop in air temperature has caused a corresponding drop in the temperature of the water we use to bathe. I estimate it to be hovering right around 14 degrees (hey--it could happen). Pretty soon I'm going to start boiling my bathing water. Just like the pioneers!

Overall, the trade-off is worth it.

Oh. Darn.

Well, to make more poignant my sadness about the change from Malys to Maly, I learned today that the white Malys flower is jasmine, only the most beautiful and fragrant (and delicious in tea) flower in all the world. *sigh*

Another Must-Read

If you have not yet read George Orwell's Burmese Days, now is the time. It's a sad novel, to be sure, about the damage done to a culture and to many a human soul by colonialism. And a fellow Volunteer commented to me that Flory should be the vice-president of the Most Humiliated Protagonists Club.

But somehow, it's also a really enjoyable read. The best parts are the uniquely Southeast Asian details: the preciousness of ice during the hot season; the poor quality, physically and otherwise, of available books; the proudly kept long mole-hairs. Actually, maybe you should visit Cambodia before reading this book. I bet it makes the experience that much more vivid.

You Don't Have To Call Me Darlin'

In Cambodia, people don't usually address you by your first name: they use family or status terms. Older siblings are called Bong, but so are people of the same general age group as you are. Ohn seems to be used for younger people in general. Ming, Bhoo, and Om are titles used for aunts and uncles as well as people of your parents' general age group. Yeay and Ta are titles for grandparents and the greatly aged. Monks are called either Loak Ta, Loak Bong, or Loak Pa-ohn, depending on their age in relation to yours. Teachers are called Neak Kru (women) or Loak Kru (men). And important people like your boss, the village chief, the commune chief, other political personages, and the school director are usually called by their titles.

At home, I'm Bong Maly to all my younger siblings and Maly Ain (my Maly) to my mother. If I'm far away and someone is shouting, they call me Maly Uy (dear Maly). At school, I'm Teacher (not Neak Kru, strangely).

So with all this status-conscious naming, what do sweethearts call each other? Boys are called Bong and girls are called Ohn. Is this what husbands and wives call each other, I asked my family. Oh, no. Married couples have a special form of address. If their child is named Vanny, one calls out Ma Vanny (mother of Vanny) or Pa Vanny (father of Vanny) to locate the other. I asked my mother if couples use each other's first names: she said no.

Comfort Food

Vegetarian food has come to Battambang:



!

I could stop here but I feel compelled to gush. A fellow Volunteer who learned of this vegetarian restaurant in Battambang town (on the diagonal road between the bus station and Road 3) introduced me to the "mee ayu veng" (long life noodles) and I am hooked! Noodles, warm broth, mushrooms, veggies, and fake meat all delicately complement each other in one delicious bowl. It ain't no black-bean burger, and the menu isn't quite as extensive as that available at Sunflower, but this is the most delightful culinary discovery I've made in Cambodia since pumpkin stir-fry. One more visit and I think I will officially be a regular.

The restaurant-review deets: the clientele seems to be mostly Cambodian with the occasional Westerner, and a bowl of long-life noodles and a cup of iced coffee comes out to $1. Per Cambodian custom, they're open when they're open.