The strangest part about coming back to my village from a long absence is the catalogue of minutiae of physical traits that have changed since people last saw me. Usually my family, friends, and co-workers discuss whether I've gotten fatter (good) or thinner (bad), paler (good) or darker (bad). I take the general disagreement to mean that I am exactly the same as when I left.
At any rate, I've got lots to share, about a couple of great school events and a vacation to Laos. I'll try to get some posts and pictures up within the week.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Net/Bugs = x
One of those questions that must be answered time and again: is it worth it to shoo that bug out of your mosquito net? (Another question that must be asked but will never be answered is: how did it get in there in the first place?)
There seems to be a matrix for solving this equation, with the following factors: whether you yourself are inside or outside the net at the time, exactly how scary the bug is, ranging from fruit fly to mysterious prehistoric jetliner with ominous stinger, and how much sleep time, if any, you are likely to lose if the bug is removed (or if it's not).
Usually it's mosquitoes that somehow drift into my net, and I rarely discover them until they've sucked my blood in the wee hours of the morning. I think they sneak in through a flap that is supposed to be "convenient" for my entry and egress. With mosquitoes, one can fairly confidently wait them out. The insecticide with which the net is impregnated will eventually work its magic, and the mosquito will fall into a permanent slumber, though it will certainly have sated itself before doing so. The other option is to wait patiently for the mosquito to float into view and then try to kill it. The only problem with this is, it tends to get your adrenaline up, as you must usually try several times before the target is defeated. This may render later slumber impossible.
Grasshoppers can be allowed to stay. Ants must be squished as you find them, as they tend not to spend enough time on the net to get a lethal dose of permethrin.
Larger bugs, like bees, stick bugs, and mysterious titans from a forgotten geological age, are another issue entirely. The net may eventually knock them out but will probably never kill them. And the longer they stay trapped in the net, the more agitated they are likely to be. However scary it is to get close enough to shoo them away from the net, it is much scarier to sleep in it with them. For this kind of operation, I highly recommend enlisting a Cambodian host sister, who will laugh good-naturedly at your silly fear of bugs but will also take pity on you and bravely remove the offender.
There seems to be a matrix for solving this equation, with the following factors: whether you yourself are inside or outside the net at the time, exactly how scary the bug is, ranging from fruit fly to mysterious prehistoric jetliner with ominous stinger, and how much sleep time, if any, you are likely to lose if the bug is removed (or if it's not).
Usually it's mosquitoes that somehow drift into my net, and I rarely discover them until they've sucked my blood in the wee hours of the morning. I think they sneak in through a flap that is supposed to be "convenient" for my entry and egress. With mosquitoes, one can fairly confidently wait them out. The insecticide with which the net is impregnated will eventually work its magic, and the mosquito will fall into a permanent slumber, though it will certainly have sated itself before doing so. The other option is to wait patiently for the mosquito to float into view and then try to kill it. The only problem with this is, it tends to get your adrenaline up, as you must usually try several times before the target is defeated. This may render later slumber impossible.
Grasshoppers can be allowed to stay. Ants must be squished as you find them, as they tend not to spend enough time on the net to get a lethal dose of permethrin.
Larger bugs, like bees, stick bugs, and mysterious titans from a forgotten geological age, are another issue entirely. The net may eventually knock them out but will probably never kill them. And the longer they stay trapped in the net, the more agitated they are likely to be. However scary it is to get close enough to shoo them away from the net, it is much scarier to sleep in it with them. For this kind of operation, I highly recommend enlisting a Cambodian host sister, who will laugh good-naturedly at your silly fear of bugs but will also take pity on you and bravely remove the offender.
Daydreams
Lately I've taken to having very graphic daydreams of an unexpected nature: a mundane day in Boise, Idaho. I'll just be sitting on my bed here in Cambodia, under my mosquito net, trying to write a lesson plan or listen to the VOA broadcast on my shortwave radio, and suddenly, I'll be waking up in a cold house under a thick comforter. My parents' house. I'll take a trip to the bathroom and not think twice about the tall, familiar flushable toilet, the potable water pouring easily from the sink faucet. Then I'll go downstairs and pour a bowl of cereal, with real, cold milk. The door of the fridge will resist as I open it up to put the milk in. The cold fridge air will pour over my already-cold feet.
Perhaps the most satisfying part of my daydream is the part where I start my mom's Toyota. I put the key in the ignition. I turn it. As the engine rumbles I feel the slight vibration through the seat. The car has rear-view mirrors, which I check as I back it out of the driveway. The cool steering wheel resists as I turn it to enter the street.
For some reason my daydreams are always this simple, as small, familiar things from my life come back to tell me that they will still be there when I return home. But from here they are luminous, unreal. I know when I get home, I'll just be dragging myself out of bed to start the daily grind, and neither the sink nor the milk nor the car will retain the magic that now buoys them to the forefront of my drifting thoughts.
Perhaps the most satisfying part of my daydream is the part where I start my mom's Toyota. I put the key in the ignition. I turn it. As the engine rumbles I feel the slight vibration through the seat. The car has rear-view mirrors, which I check as I back it out of the driveway. The cool steering wheel resists as I turn it to enter the street.
For some reason my daydreams are always this simple, as small, familiar things from my life come back to tell me that they will still be there when I return home. But from here they are luminous, unreal. I know when I get home, I'll just be dragging myself out of bed to start the daily grind, and neither the sink nor the milk nor the car will retain the magic that now buoys them to the forefront of my drifting thoughts.
Another Day, Another Book Review
Recently I finished reading The Beach by Alex Garland. (What? I have a lot of time on my hands...) It was a perplexing experience. Garland re-creates the world of pretentious backpackers with careful precision: what drives them to seek out secret adventures and the understandable contempt they feel for other travelers like themselves. His creation of an idyllic community located on an inaccessible Thai island is tantalizing: why couldn't it really happen? Therefore, the first 80% of the book affords an enjoyable reading experience (except for the occasional disjointed Vietnam War reference). And then everything takes a bizarre and sinister turn, and the plot reaches its climax suddenly with a drug-fueled orgy of violence. (Shoot, did I just give away the ending?)
This felt familiar: a novel featuring an amazing world, created with care, and an author, unsatisfied with such an accomplishment, trying to bully his characters into acting out a convoluted plot. And I realized that the parallels are Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash and The Diamond Age, though Stephenson's worlds are the more far-fetched and therefore, perhaps, more impressive creations.
No need to read for yourself unless you want to relive that special bafflement felt at the end of a Neal Stephenson novel. Or fantasize about a beautiful island paradise somewhere out to the south of Thailand. But if you do read it, ask yourself this: how do they get all that rice over those cliffs? I still can't figure that part out.
This felt familiar: a novel featuring an amazing world, created with care, and an author, unsatisfied with such an accomplishment, trying to bully his characters into acting out a convoluted plot. And I realized that the parallels are Neal Stephenson's Snow Crash and The Diamond Age, though Stephenson's worlds are the more far-fetched and therefore, perhaps, more impressive creations.
No need to read for yourself unless you want to relive that special bafflement felt at the end of a Neal Stephenson novel. Or fantasize about a beautiful island paradise somewhere out to the south of Thailand. But if you do read it, ask yourself this: how do they get all that rice over those cliffs? I still can't figure that part out.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
On Small Mountain
One other thing I did in February was a bicycle trip to Phnom Touch, or Small Mountain. (It's pronounced more like "toit" than the English "touch.") I went with a couple of teachers and a lot of students. The landscape around my province is very flat, but there's one hill that you can see from miles away. This is Phnom Touch. There is a pagoda which encircles and covers the mountain. It's a really beautiful place, and the 20-km bike ride to get there is fantastic.
I first saw the pagoda through the palm trees in an elementary school yard. It seemed very impressive.
The view from the top of the hill is amazing. The strip of green you can see is the area around the road, and then the yellow fields roll out to the horizon.
There's a temple with a huge Buddha statue about halfway up the hill. For some reason, I am a sucker for huge Buddha statues. It's amazing!
Finally, on the way home, one of the girls blew her tire, so she hopped on the back of another bike and steered her own next to her. Nervy girl.
I first saw the pagoda through the palm trees in an elementary school yard. It seemed very impressive.
The view from the top of the hill is amazing. The strip of green you can see is the area around the road, and then the yellow fields roll out to the horizon.
There's a temple with a huge Buddha statue about halfway up the hill. For some reason, I am a sucker for huge Buddha statues. It's amazing!
Finally, on the way home, one of the girls blew her tire, so she hopped on the back of another bike and steered her own next to her. Nervy girl.
February
Ahhh, and now February.
February was by no means a meaty teaching month. Chinese New Year, although not an official Cambodian holiday, is in practice celebrated by many Cambodians whether they are of Chinese heritage or not. Then the exam period began, so few classes were happening. As I said, exam period doesn't end until March. So I've been doing a lot of non-teaching stuff.
I went to another wedding of a Cambodian and Cambodian-American
JoJo got bigger and, as a total coward, learned how to bark at young girls
I went to Siem Reap with a college friend, where we visited the War Museum
and saw lots of old stuff
and I learned how to pump gas, Khmer-style
I also went to Phnom Penh for the CamTESOL conference. I'm pretty excited to go back to my site and try out some new methods that I've learned about at the conference, specifically something called Team English. Wish me luck!
February was by no means a meaty teaching month. Chinese New Year, although not an official Cambodian holiday, is in practice celebrated by many Cambodians whether they are of Chinese heritage or not. Then the exam period began, so few classes were happening. As I said, exam period doesn't end until March. So I've been doing a lot of non-teaching stuff.
I went to another wedding of a Cambodian and Cambodian-American
JoJo got bigger and, as a total coward, learned how to bark at young girls
I went to Siem Reap with a college friend, where we visited the War Museum
and saw lots of old stuff
and I learned how to pump gas, Khmer-style
I also went to Phnom Penh for the CamTESOL conference. I'm pretty excited to go back to my site and try out some new methods that I've learned about at the conference, specifically something called Team English. Wish me luck!
January
January was a month I have only vague memories of, mostly for self-preservation and also because this is when I was struggling with my camera and didn't take any pictures.
The students at my school were given an official vacation during the first week of the month to help their parents with the rice harvest. I took this opportunity to visit a small town near the Thai border with my host sister. I have a lot to say about this trip, but basically it was amazing! It was interesting to get a glimpse of a life more rural than my own. Also, it was a relaxing vacation, as I didn't feel the need to see the sights or check my email. The town reminded me of the Old West (or what the Old West looks like in movies): everything from houses to fields to trees was dust-colored, and the area has clearly seen better days. Except, strangely, they have ridiculously cheap electricity there (much cheaper than in my town) because of the proximity to Thailand. My host sister and I visited a potato farm and helped chop potatoes for drying. We also checked out a pagoda on top of a quiet mountain. I feel relaxed just remembering it all....
The road out to the border was an experience in and of itself. The feeling was kind of similar to being shoved into a dryer that's on, what with the large number of people in the pickup truck and the size and frequency of the holes/bumps/divots/craters in the road. At one point on the way back our taxi stopped in front of a sign that said "Danger! Mines" and all the men in the car got out to answer the call of nature in the bushes. Despite the awful stories I've heard about "straying from the path," nobody was injured.
After that I went down to Phnom Penh to get some "work" done. You can guess how that turned out. Back at my site on a Tuesday morning, I put on my teacher clothes and made to leave the house. My host brother, who's a 12th grader, just laughed. "Bong Maly, there are no students or teachers at school. You don't need to go today." Usually, he knows more about what's going on at school than I do. So I believed him, but I also thought that if everyone else magically showed up and I wasn't there, I might look lazy. So I went to check it out. Sure enough, the gate to the school was padlocked, and the yard was deserted. So there was no school the second week either.
Peace Corps staff then invited me to a meeting in the next province over, to check out a new university that I've been hearing about. This is where the memory starts to fade. I ate something unfortunate on this trip, got a vicious stomach bug, and spent a lot of the rest of January feeling lethargic. My host sister took a sample (if you know what I mean) to our provincial town for analysis. That's when you know someone loves you.
Somehow I also managed to fall off my bike for the first time since I was 16. I was riding the evil road outta town. At a certain part, the road slopes down steeply to a ditch. I was absent-mindedly riding along the edge of the road when my wheel began to slip down the slope. I overcorrected and found myself flat on my face underneath my bike. I'm pretty sure I didn't hear the other people along the road laughing at me, but I know they saw me, so I was still embarrassed.
January was awesome and cold. I dreaded taking showers. I wore long sleeves. Good times. P.S. I'm over the stomach bug.
The students at my school were given an official vacation during the first week of the month to help their parents with the rice harvest. I took this opportunity to visit a small town near the Thai border with my host sister. I have a lot to say about this trip, but basically it was amazing! It was interesting to get a glimpse of a life more rural than my own. Also, it was a relaxing vacation, as I didn't feel the need to see the sights or check my email. The town reminded me of the Old West (or what the Old West looks like in movies): everything from houses to fields to trees was dust-colored, and the area has clearly seen better days. Except, strangely, they have ridiculously cheap electricity there (much cheaper than in my town) because of the proximity to Thailand. My host sister and I visited a potato farm and helped chop potatoes for drying. We also checked out a pagoda on top of a quiet mountain. I feel relaxed just remembering it all....
The road out to the border was an experience in and of itself. The feeling was kind of similar to being shoved into a dryer that's on, what with the large number of people in the pickup truck and the size and frequency of the holes/bumps/divots/craters in the road. At one point on the way back our taxi stopped in front of a sign that said "Danger! Mines" and all the men in the car got out to answer the call of nature in the bushes. Despite the awful stories I've heard about "straying from the path," nobody was injured.
After that I went down to Phnom Penh to get some "work" done. You can guess how that turned out. Back at my site on a Tuesday morning, I put on my teacher clothes and made to leave the house. My host brother, who's a 12th grader, just laughed. "Bong Maly, there are no students or teachers at school. You don't need to go today." Usually, he knows more about what's going on at school than I do. So I believed him, but I also thought that if everyone else magically showed up and I wasn't there, I might look lazy. So I went to check it out. Sure enough, the gate to the school was padlocked, and the yard was deserted. So there was no school the second week either.
Peace Corps staff then invited me to a meeting in the next province over, to check out a new university that I've been hearing about. This is where the memory starts to fade. I ate something unfortunate on this trip, got a vicious stomach bug, and spent a lot of the rest of January feeling lethargic. My host sister took a sample (if you know what I mean) to our provincial town for analysis. That's when you know someone loves you.
Somehow I also managed to fall off my bike for the first time since I was 16. I was riding the evil road outta town. At a certain part, the road slopes down steeply to a ditch. I was absent-mindedly riding along the edge of the road when my wheel began to slip down the slope. I overcorrected and found myself flat on my face underneath my bike. I'm pretty sure I didn't hear the other people along the road laughing at me, but I know they saw me, so I was still embarrassed.
January was awesome and cold. I dreaded taking showers. I wore long sleeves. Good times. P.S. I'm over the stomach bug.
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