Season's Greetings

Hi folks, just a quick one to wish you all a very happy Christmas and hopefully I will see most of you very soon in the new year.

The money has now run out and I'm forced to live on my credit card. I did call to a few schools looking for work; none of them have actually come back to me yet. The new term starts in January and I'm pretty sure that they are waiting until after Christmas to conduct interviews. I have made a decision though that it is time to go home now. Even if I was offered a job at this stage I would turn it down. I know that my health is at risk as I just cannot, no matter how hard I try, get used to the food here. I am living on baked beans, pizza, soup and bread. Plus the climate is not really conducive to me being active and alert all the time.

Christmas means very little to most people here in Cambodia. Being a mainly Buddhist country it is just another working day. I'm sure whatever barangs are about will be out for a few drinks tonight; as will I. I suppose moto drivers and tuk-tuk drivers are hoping to make a few dollars tonight if the barang drink enough of the Christmas spirits and start to give bigger tips than usual. Well it shall be a different Christmas to ones I have been used to.

I do want to take this opportunity to relate an experience I had in a bar the other night. It was the bar I worked in for two nights, Revolution. A gang of us were sitting around some tables, having a few beers. Three Austrians called to the bar and sat with us for a while. When they eventually made moves to go, the owner said he would buy them a drink if they stayed. They said that they were looking for somewhere to eat spiders. The owner's wife, a Cambodian woman, said that she had some in the car. The three Austrians sat back down while she retrieved the spiders from her car.

We all held our breath as she opened the plastic shopping bag to reveal about twenty deep-fried tarantulas. They were as big as my fist. My skin immediately began to crawl. The two Austrian blokes eagerly took one each from her. The Austrian girl declined. She took photos of the two guys eating the spiders. They posed with the spiders hanging out of their mouths, they posed with the spiders in their hands just to show how big they were. I am still kicking myself that I didn't have my camera with me; it was an excellent photo opportunity. I remember watching the guys biting on the legs first. Then one of them bit into the abdomen, he paused, obviously fighting back the gag reflex. His eyes widened and he said, 'That part does not taste the same as the legs'. One was offered to me, I declined before they had even finished offering it to me. If anyone had pushed one of those spiders towards my face I would have jumped up, thrown the table over and screamed like a little girl until my throat bled.

I'm looking forward to getting stuck into a batter burger and chips when I get home. I also find myself reflecting on the joys of white pudding spread over a slice of fried bread. All good things come to he who waits.

Okay folks I'll stop waffling now. Again have a great Christmas, and I'll see you in the new year.

The Cambodian Hilton

08/12/08
This afternoon I’m going out on the prowl, looking for a job. I have a few CVs printed and copies of certificates and references. I shall pop into a few schools I have spotted around Phnom Penh and hope to make a good impression with them. In the meanwhile I just have to write about the guesthouse I am staying in at the moment.

It is called the Angkor Reach Guesthouse and my room is 7 dollars a night. When I first moved in I asked about a discount if I stayed for the full month. They were happy to offer me a discount of 14 dollars, two nights in other words. I declined and opted to pay them on a daily basis. You can see the photos above; these were taken this morning immediately after the two cleaning ladies had finished cleaning the room. One photo shows my wardrobe where I keep all my clothes, books, camera, iPod, guitar and laptop. Another shows the corner of the room beside the bed, the ceiling leaks just above this spot as you can see from the sediment on the floor. Yet another photo shown above shows the toilet and shower, again I remind you that this is after the place has been cleaned. Again you can see the sediment collecting on the floor; immediately above, four stalactites hang from the ceiling dripping water at a rate of about one drop every ten seconds. The fourth photo should give you an idea of the size of the room; it shows the bedroom and the bathroom. Notice the ashtray under the bed; it used to be a napkin holder. If you look carefully on the bed, near the pillows you will see the tear in the bed sheet, but hey I can’t complain, it’s a clean sheet.

When the two ladies come to clean the room they split the work load. One squirts a bottle of disinfectant over the toilet and toilet floor and then runs the shower over the floor to rinse off. The other girl runs around the room with a straw broom, sweeping up any dirt or cigarette ash that may have been dispersed around the room by the fan mounted on the wall. Then together they change the sheet on my bed, the pillowcases have never been changed. There is no toilet roll; I have given up asking for some. The girls speak practically no English and I likewise am handicapped when it comes to communicating in Khmer. Of course the power of mime has been helpful and I did get a toilet roll once but the paper was so bad on it and it ran out so fast that I just have a shower after I use the toilet for those all important sit down jobs. Having said that, I do need to work my ablutions around the cleaning ladies’ schedule. They insist on taking the towel when cleaning the room. They do not replace it for at least 3 to 4 hours. I can either get up and shower before they call or wait until they return a clean towel to me in the afternoon.

I have a plastic chair in my room now. One morning I was sitting on the bed in my room, playing my guitar, when the cleaning ladies called. They were delighted to see me playing and one of them left the room and promptly returned with a chair for me to sit in order that I may play more comfortably. They both stood still and watched me as I played a quick tune for them. After a brief round of applause and bowing and thanks and smiles they continued their duty of getting the room back into shape. It takes them, on average, 4 minutes to clean the room. The mattress is torn, stained and is caved in around the middle. The look they are going for in the room is the nicotine-stained walls with rising damp and the added water feature on the ceiling in the toilet is at no extra charge. On the wall is cellotaped a notice written in both Khmer and English; it details the guesthouse policy for guests. I shall now type it out for you verbatim, the English version that is...

Angkor Reach Guest House
Guesthouse Policy
We are managerment of Angkor Reach Guesthouse warmly welcome to the esteemed guests, who’s staying here. In order to ensure your safety and guesthouse proper please all ledies and gentlemen applies the following regulations.
1. Must fill out the registration form.
2. The period of staying day will be finished at 12.00 am of the following day.
3. Prohibited all king of gamble and prostitution act.
4. Prohibited to bring all kind fo guns, explosions, drugs and poisonous substance.
5. Prohibited cooking and using iron in the room, either smoking cigarettl.
6. Guesthouse in not responsible to any loss of your precious belongings including jewel, phone and money, which are not keeping in the guesthouse authorizer.
7. Guest will be charge of any damage or loss of the guesthouse property, if it ever happens.
8. Before living the room ever short time, please kindly switch off the light, air-conditioner, and water and give the key to the reception.
Thanks in advance!!!

I am not really complaining about the room I just want to share the experience with you guys. It hasn’t all been glamour and fun while being here in Cambodia. Of course I have been in better rooms; in fact I am sure I could get a better room for the same price somewhere else in the city. I was simply waiting for the bar job to work out before I moved rooms again. Chan Sras stayed in this room with me for three nights and speaking to her on the phone this morning she is insisting that she calls back up to me during the week and gets me sorted with a decent room for a month with lower rent. That’s fine with me, if she can deliver the goods.

At the moment I am trying to keep costs down by staying here. I take cold showers every day, I shave every other day with cold water. Today I made the monumental effort of eating at a roadside Cambodian restaurant. I ordered chicken fried rice and Chinese tea. I like the tea but it goes cold very quickly. I worked my way around the chicken, just eating the rice as I don’t think the chicken was cooked properly, perhaps next time I will just order fried rice with no meat. The bill came to 1.50 dollars, in fancier barang catering restaurants the same meal would have cost four to five dollars. Of course in the barang restaurants I wouldn’t be swatting multitudes of flies away from my plate as I tried to eat and worry about food poisoning. Chan Sras sat with me in the same Cambodian restaurant the other day and happily ate a bowl of what looked to me like pig spare parts with boiled rice. When I smoke a cigarette after my meal an ashtray is not needed, I am simply expected to throw the butt onto the floor.

It will be a miracle if I return home without an eating disorder. Like I said before I’m not complaining; just sharing the experience. The guesthouse is around the corner from a well-known nightclub called Heart of Darkness. Late at night there is a large crowd outside the night club, mainly rich Khmer kids with their bodyguards and large SUV type Lexus. Across the road from the nightclub can be found various types of food cooked on the side of the street. There is a van that sells hotdogs and French fries. I have been a customer on several occasions at this stage. Every night when I walk past the van the Cambodian lady leans out and waves at me, hoping, I suppose, that I will part with another dollar or two. That woman has saved my life on more than one occasion but frankly I don’t feel so grateful the next morning when I am crippled with heartburn.

I’d better go have a shave and shower and try to gain employment. Later folks.

Bar Tales

04/12/08

Not much to report of late. I'm still trying to motivate myself into looking for work teaching English. I did have a possibility of work recently. It was in a bar called Revolution. The deal was I would work two days a week and for that I would get free accommodation upstairs over the bar. A sweet deal I thought as accommodation is one of the main drains on finances. The bar is run by a very attractive girl called Anandi. It is owned by a guy called Alex but in my head I called him David Brent (from the office) as like Brent he has an inflated ego and is really quite irritating after about 30 seconds.

I worked one night and was told by Anandi that I did okay for the first night. I asked about the room. I was told that they would like me to work another night before they decided to go ahead with the agreement. They would definitely let me know after the second night.

I turned up for my third day of work, Anandi said she was happy with my work but that Alex wanted me to work another two nights before he came to a decision. I pre-empted him by deciding there and then that I wasn't going to work for him. I spent the next four hours drinking free beer as a way of payment for my two nights work.

Later, Alex called to the bar and I could see that he was wondering why I was sitting down at a table drinking beer rather than working. I called him over for a little chat. He admitted that I wasn't what he was looking for, he was looking for someone with a bit more 'pep' (translates as someone younger) he said he was sorry that it didn't work out but that Anandi wasn't really happy with my work. (I know who I believe). He insisted on buying me a beer. I accepted his kind offer but wasn't too sure if I could fit it in after the ten other beers he bought for me that he doesn't know about.

As I said there is nothing else really to report. I did witness something the other day that I found amusing. There is a bar around the corner from the guesthouse I am staying in. The bar is called 'Chilli's' and is a very well run girly type bar. When I arrived there were two British guys aged around their mid-fifties sitting at the bar. I sat at the far end of the bar and was just in time to see the drama unfold. When they received their bill one of them absolutely exploded with rage. He tried to climb over the bar and attack the owner. The owner (a German bloke) gave as good as he got and they wrestled a bit with armlocks and that sort of thing for a minute or two. Two of the girls jumped into the melee and eventually the angry Brit was lead from the bar by his mate who looked more resigned to being caught out and learning from the experience rather than getting into a punch up with the owner and the now attendant Cambodian security guard. The angry Brit left but not before calling the owner every bad name under the sun, with special emphasis on the 'c' word. He also promised he would be back to burn the place down.

After they left I got talking to the girls, two of which were quite drunk. Apparently the guys had been there for the last four hours and had insisted on buying the girls drink too. In this type of bar when you buy a girl a drink it costs the same as any other drink but with an extra dollar on top of the price. This extra dollar goes to the girl as a tip. The upshot of this was that the two guys were presented with a bill for 164 dollars. The average bill a customer will pay in a place like this is between 5 and 10 dollars.

Afterwards I walked home to my guesthouse and on the way stood against a wall waiting for two Cambodian guys to stop kicking the shit out of each other in the middle of the street. There was a large crowd around them and I didn't fancy walking through it. After a few minutes the fight had moved over to the far pavement and I was able to pass by unscathed.

So now folks it is coming up to make or break time. The funds have nearly disappeared and if I want to stay on here I will have to get some work soon.

Watch this space...

Water Sports

23/11/08

Today being my last day in Sihanoukville we decided to go and spend some time at the Kbal Chhay Cascades. They are about 17kms outside of S’ville, so we hired a tuk-tuk to take us there. We made a party of five; myself, Chan Sras, her daughter Cristina, Chan Sras’ friend Narie, and I think Narie’s brother whose name escapes me right now. A price was agreed in advance for the tuk-tuk (12 dollars) and off we set. One or two stops were made on the way to pick up provisions.

I have included a picture of the market where we stopped to buy fruit, cans of soft drinks, beer and ice to keep it all chilled in a large bucket. If you look at the photo you will see a typical scene from all around Cambodia. Food is prepared and sold just metres away from rubbish strewn about the place. It was agreed that I would pay the tuk-tuk while Chan Sras and friends supplied the food, water and beer.

Before we left the town the tuk-tuk driver picked up two of his mates along the way. They obviously had nothing better to do and so came along for the craic. Off we went with the engine of the tuk-tuk straining to haul eight persons up the steep hill that leads out of Sihanoukville.

When we got there I saw only one other barang in the large crowd that swarmed about the cascades and raised picnic platforms. Naked children laughed and splashed about in the water. Shirtless men posed for photos while standing in the cascading waterfalls. For the women the style of swimwear was a bit more Victorian; fully dressed. I decided to leave my tee-shirt on as I didn’t fancy having all the Cambodians staring at my hairy arms and torso.

There is a succession of falls of varying height. We made our way up through them; the water was refreshingly cool for me and I relished the sensation of water pounding down on my head and shoulders. Better than any power shower I have ever experienced. When we reached a particularly narrow and deep stretch of water Chan Sras suggested we go back as she was afraid that snakes would be in the water. I had previously seen a black snake swimming in the river in Siem Reap, the thoughts of meeting one while standing up to my waist in water induced me to readily agree with her suggestion.

I had brought a change of clothes but didn’t bother using them. No one else saw any reason to get out of their wet clothes. Soaked through to the skin but drying out rapidly we piled into the tuk-tuk and headed back to town. I found the day’s activities to be a great way to spend my last day in Sihanoukville.

Last night a large open-air concert was held down by the beach. It was being televised and was sponsored by MTV. Its aim was to raise awareness of and to fight against human sex exploitation and trafficking. The place was crammed full of revellers hopping and bouncing about the place. A large stage had been set up with huge screens on either side of the performers so that those of us at the back could see more clearly what was going on. I grew bored quickly as it was your usual rap and hip-hop shite with sexy women prancing about and men shouting into microphones while clutching their testicles. I have no more to say on the subject.

While talking with Chan Sras yesterday I finally came to understand how the flat tyre on the motorbike scam works. Apparently she had tried to explain it to me the first night it happened but I hadn’t been listening properly. When I park my bike outside a bar there is usually a security guard there to watch over the bikes. If I tip him when I am going in, all will be well. If I don’t tip him he places something sharp between the grooves of the tyre. I am given a second chance to tip him when I come back out. If I tip him he claims that he thinks my tyre is going soft and examines it. With sleight of hand he will remove the sharp object and hey everyone’s happy. If I don’t tip, well we all know what happens, don’t we folks? That’s the situation; I either tip the security guard 2000 riel (50 cents) or pay five to seven dollars to have the inner tube replaced. There is a small cottage industry here, as I said in the last blog I posted, guys are sitting by the side of the road with new inner tubes should any hapless barang need one. What a country.

Yesterday morning as I picked at a really bad omelette I saw two monks across the road going about their business of collecting alms. Dressed in ochre robes, they carried large yellow umbrellas to protect their bald heads from the blazing sun. They stood outside each restaurant, bar, guesthouse or internet cafe; their begging bowls ready for all donations offered. A woman came out of one guesthouse and placed some food in their bowls; no eye contact was made. The woman then knelt on the ground before them, hands together in prayer she bowed three times. When finished she stood back up, turned about face and walked back into the guesthouse. The monks put the lids back on their bowls and walked on to the next establishment. Not a word had been exchanged between the monks and the woman. Not even a, ‘thanks for the grub missus’. All religions are pretty much the same around the world I guess.

Tomorrow I go back to Phnom Penh.

Some more photos

Even more photos

Idle is as idle does

22 November 2008
Okay, it’s been a while folks but to be honest I have nothing really of interest to report of late. I have basically been spending my time cultivating idleness, reading voraciously, lounging, slouching and generally luxuriating in not being employed. Oh such a life of wonder, dreaming, self-educating and personal growth I could indulge in for the rest of my natural life if only I had the funds. Everyone reading this; please feel free to deposit a few euro into my account on a monthly basis so that I may continue this hedonistic lifestyle. You will be rewarded with my eternal gratitude.

Of course it isn’t all good over here. Before coming to Cambodia I had read about the potential for crime and violence. Luckily I have seen practically none of that sort of stuff. I have come across small scams and tricks though. For example, the day I came back from Chan Sras’s sister’s wedding (by the way I just found out she is only sixteen) I found that the petrol tank in the motorbike I had rented was now empty. It had been full the day before. Last week Tony came down to S’ville from Ratanakiri for a few days. Having the motorbike it was handy for both of us to get around. When I met him at the bus station one of the moto-drivers approached me and asked that I give him some money because I was doing him out of work by driving a motorbike myself and picking someone up at the station. I just smiled and wished him a good day.

One night Tony, Chan Sras and I went to a bar called The Kangaroo Kitchen, it is a bar owned by some Aussies. When we decided to leave I found that my back tyre was flat; it had been fine when we arrived. Chan Sras drove my moto, (because she is lighter) and I drove hers, Tony went on alone to the next bar. Chan Sras brought me to some guys who were sitting at the side of the road. They replaced the inner tube which had a large hole in it. This cost me seven dollars. Grand, I thought, at least that’s sorted. The very next night Tony and I went back to the same bar. When we went to settle our bills we noticed that we had both been short changed. After calling attention to this, they apologised and gave the correct change. Going out to the motorbike, the security guard approached us and said that my back tyre was looking a bit soft, he knew someone that could fix it for me. Upon checking it I said that it was fine. About 300 yards down the road the back tyre was flat. Feeling a bit pissed off we pushed the bike back to the bar. We had a few words with the owner of the bar who apologised about the incorrect change but wouldn’t entertain my back tyre conspiracy theory. Being somewhat angry I refused to let anyone fix the tyre for me. Tony and I took turns at pushing the motorbike back to my guesthouse, three miles away. I was literally soaked in sweat by the time I got back to my room. The next morning one of the guys working at the guesthouse changed the inner tube for me because the previous new one had a large hole in it. This cost me five dollars. I have not been back to The Kangaroo Kitchen since.

I was glad my rental period for the motorbike expired the other day as it was always at the back of my mind that it would cost me a lot of money if something bad should happen to the bike or worse still, it was stolen. There was a lock with the bike but even then it was in my mind that the guy who rented it to me could have a spare key and steal the bike from me someday and then look for eight hundred dollars should I not produce the bike at the end of the rental agreement. As it was, he tried to get a few extra dollars out of me when he came to collect the bike. Written on the rental agreement were the dates 20/10/08 to 20/11/08. When he came to pick the bike up (only after I rang and asked him to come collect it) he claimed that I had the bike for more than one month, I had the bike for one month and one day was how he looked at it. I showed him my copy of the agreement and my signature thereon. That is what we had agreed to. He had my passport in his shirt pocket; I held the keys to the bike. A psychological battle of staring each other out thus ensued. I wasn’t budging, nor was he. When Chan Sras came down to the court yard to see what was going on, he backed down and gave me my passport; with a small but polite bow I gave him back his keys.

I now make it a point to double check my change at shops, bars and restaurants. The other night I had a beer and something to eat at a bar called G’day Mate. I had frequented this bar several times before and always tipped the girls when leaving. This particular night I checked my change and was a dollar short. I called attention to this; they apologised and gave me the correct change. I didn’t tip, nor have I been back to that bar. I am not complaining too much folks. If that’s the worst that happens to me then I am happy enough. I must admit though I am genuinely surprised that my laptop has not been stolen yet.

Sihanoukville is essentially a party town for tourists and all the hopes I had of sitting down quietly and writing didn’t really transpire. It has always been at the back of my mind that I need to pull my socks up and get proactive about finding some work. I had applied to two schools in Phnom Penh but had heard nothing back from them. The other day I decided to go to the local market and purchase a pair of shoes so that I may look respectable when looking for work when I return to the capital city. Could I find a pair of shoes in S’ville that actually fit me? No, would have to be the definitive answer to that question. Everyone here apparently has very small feet. Last Monday my phone rang, I didn’t recognise the number. It was one of the schools asking if I could call in tomorrow for an interview. I explained that I was in S’ville and would continue to be for the next week or so. No problem they explained, could I give them a call when I returned to Phnom Penh? Why of course I would be delighted to. This week has been spent drinking less and going to bed earlier in an attempt to detoxify and get my act together. Apart from going to the interview I intend to call into all the other schools I find and make them aware of my presence and willingness to work. Fingers crossed folks.

As I have said before, nothing much of interest has been happening of late but I know that when I read somebody else’s blog it is always nice to have some pictures to look at too. To this end I have included some pictures of the Golden Lion Roundabout here in Sihanoukville. It is the main landmark in this town and is situated between the beach area and downtown. The other photos are off Chan Sras and her friends when they called to my room for a bite to eat and a few beers.
They called at 11.30am bringing with them some beers and what I can only describe as offal and some rice. I graciously declined their offer of some food but to avoid being rude I accepted the beer. It turned out to be a pleasant two hours sitting around talking; Chan Sras doing the translating for me as the girls had very little English. They laughed when I sat on a pillow on the tiled floor. They may be used to sitting on hard floors all their lives but I’m not. Afterwards, as I waved them goodbye from the balcony, I had that nice four beers around midday feeling. Why can’t everyone live like this I wondered. They ate their meal at a leisurely rate and the conversation was more important than the food. I know the same sort of attitude exists in the likes of Spain and Italy but I have never really seen it in Ireland. For me lunchtime in Ireland consisted of going out to the shops to get a ready- made meal or sandwich and sitting at the PC at my desk in work while scoffing down the food along with a coke or a cup of tea. At home in the evenings I would eat my dinner while watching the television; it didn’t matter whether somebody else was sitting at the table or not. These Cambodian girls could sit back and relax with pleasant company and conversation before going back to work after consuming three or four beers.

While I have been doing very little physically I have been doing a lot mentally. I realise now that I have spent years doing jobs I really didn’t want to do. Every Sunday evening I would get depressed because it was only a matter of hours before I had to go back to work again. I worked because that was what was expected of me. I worked because I had to pay bills. I worked because I thought I needed to buy certain products that would make me happier. I worked and worked, never really realising that I was missing out on life. I am only going to be on this planet for a certain number of years and why should I waste them working to get the money to pay for things I don’t really need? I am not saying that I want to be a total drop out and live the life of a bum but I now know that I need to get my priorities in order and stop being a slave to the consumer mindset that insists I try to accumulate as much as possible. I am willing to work but more on my terms please. I stand alone, an individual, and I’m happy with that. I now see others as stand-alone individuals too, whether they are married or alone. This serves to enrich my relationships with friends and family.

See what happens when you don’t have to work?

A Cambodian Wedding

04/11/08

If there is one thing I have learned in Cambodia it is that time has a different meaning to them. When I arranged to get the bus from Phnom Penh to Sihanoukville the ticket said that I must be at the travel agents at 12.20pm sharp so that the pickup can take me to the bus station in time for the bus departure of 12.45pm. I was there at 12.10pm; the pickup arrived at 12.50pm and I still wasn’t late for the bus departure. When Chaan Sras and I got a taxi from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh I insisted that the taxi picked us up at noon. The taxi arrived at 7.00am and I had to haul my sorry ass out of bed and climb into the taxi and try to sleep there.

Cambodians are generally early risers and most of them get up at dawn. When Chaan Sras invited me to her sister’s wedding I said I would meet her at noon at the bus station the next day. She said she would like to leave from the bus station at 8.00am. I said that was fine; I would see her when she got back from the wedding. We eventually agreed that noon was the civilised and healthy option. The next morning my phone rang at 7.00am, I turned it to silent mode. Eventually, at 10.00am, I relented and rang her back. By 11.00am myself, Chaan Sras and three of her girlfriends were on a mini coach to the wedding.

The wedding was held at her parent’s house, somewhere half way between S’ville and Phnom Penh. The mini coach left us at the side of the main road and some guys, (brothers, cousins, wedding guests, I don’t know) on motos were waiting to take us on the final leg of the journey. We drove about 2 kms down a red clay dirt track beside a large lake. I expected to see some American choppers flying over the paddy fields close by as we arrived at her parent’s house.
The house is basically a very large shed with two rooms in it. One I think is a bedroom and the other is just a large room. This is where the ceremony was held and where we all slept that night. Outside to the left there is a large open plan area with palettes raised from the ground and a thatch roof overhead. This is where they eat and socialise, there are also two or three hammocks there for sleeping in during the hot midday sun. In front of the house a large marquee had been erected for the day and I helped to set out the tables and chairs.

There were about 100 guests, all Cambodian; I was the only barang present. Small children approached me with gifts of freshly picked flowers and laughed as they made faces and I mimicked them. Just like in Siem Reap they were fascinated with my hairy arms. Even two of the adult Cambodians tugged at my hirsute forearms and smiled warmly at me. At one stage a small girl sat beside me and lay into me, her head on my shoulder. I noticed she was carrying a small bottle of water. Looking closer at the bottle I realised it didn’t contain water but in fact was half full of huge black beetles. They obviously collect them the way we used to collect bumble bees in an empty jam jar. The captive beetles clamoured over each other frantically trying to reach the mouth of the open bottle. My blood turned cold but I kept a level head. I knew then that if I screamed like a little girl I would be plagued by kids bringing me all the creepy crawlies they could find.

Ducks and ducklings waddled about the place looking for scraps on the ground. At one stage I looked down at my feet to see a mangy scruffy looking dog lying on the ground. Three small puppies were suckling while at the same time trying their best not to be trodden upon. After I helped to set up the tables Chaan Sras called me to the main room to see the ceremony take place. The bride and groom sat before many candles and other Buddhist paraphernalia as some man recited the ceremony into a microphone which could be heard a mile away through the speakers set up outside in the marquee. People approached the couple in pairs, one on each side, and tied a piece of red string around the newly weds’ wrists and placed some money before them. Chaan Sras and I had a go too. Of course I fumbled and it took me a while to get the knot right on the string.

It was only after the ceremony and before the meal began that some of the guests started to wash and get changed into fancier clothes. Chaan Sras asked me if I would like to wash before changing clothes, I indicated that I did. She brought me around to the back of the house to a large container filled with water with a plastic pot floating on top of the water. She handed me my fresh clothes, a towel, a bucket and one of those Khmer scarves to protect my modesty. The idea was that I would fill the bucket with water, choose a place to stand in the back garden, take off all my clothes, wrap the scarf around my midriff and wash myself. That is her parents’ bathroom; the great outdoors. After several minutes of feeling uncomfortable and wondering what to do I decided that ‘when in Rome’. I stripped off at the back of the house and had a wash. Two of the flower bearing little girls kept popping their heads around the corner to sneak a peek. They laughed as I threw water at them in a vain attempt to get rid of them. Dotted elsewhere around the garden, men and women performed the same washing actions as me.
Afterwards, fresh clothes, newly scrubbed, I was sweating profusely again. Time for the meal to start. More guests arrived as the food was being served. Cans of beer were left on each table along with a bottle of Fanta or Sprite. I drank warm beer all evening because I couldn’t trust the ice that was being served to each table. As usual, I found the food inedible and supped on my luke-warm lager. A large fish was placed on the table, still with head and tail intact. That fish didn’t last long I can tell you, even the tail was eaten. The head was ripped apart and shared between two of Chaan Sras’ friends, including the eyes.

After the meal the tables were cleared away and it was time for dancing. One round table had been left on the dance floor and everyone danced Apsara style around it. I was coerced into getting up too and waving my hands about with the rest of them. Eventually the lager ran out and some of the guests departed. The music kept playing and a lot of people kept dancing. The rest of us moved back into the shed. I sat in the corner with Chaan Sras, her baby and her friends. One of the men called me over to drink with them. I sat down with about eight of the men and was handed a can of warm Black Panther stout, a really horrible imitation of Guinness. We sat, talked and joked (all in Khmer). Twice I was asked by some of the men to come outside and dance with them. So out we would go and after a few laps of the table I would say I was hot and retire to the shed for more warm stout.

Everywhere I looked there was rubbish on the ground. I have noticed this all around Cambodia. Whenever anyone removes something from its packaging they just throw the paper or wrapping on the ground, no matter where they are. I have seen Chaan Sras while waiting on a bus pour milk from a carton into the baby’s bottle and then simply throw the empty carton on the ground. Nobody bats an eyelid to this littering.

About 1.00am the stout ran out. This wouldn’t happen in Ireland. I realised that the people outside dancing had been doing so for about three hours without the aid of alcohol. This wouldn’t happen in Ireland. People started to lie down on the floor and drop off to sleep. A few mattresses were hauled out but the majority of people lay on the floor without a mattress or even a pillow and travelled to the land of Nod. The music continued to pump out of the speakers outside until 4.00am. I managed to drop off asleep then.

I awoke at 6.30am to find most of the shed had been vacated. People sat outside smoking cigarettes, feeding babies, washing dishes or taking down the marquee. About 8.00am we had gathered all our things together. I thanked and said goodbye to Chaan Sras’ parents and we set off back up to the main road to Sihanoukville. We waited at the main road for an hour and a half hoping an empty mini coach would come by. Eventually a moto driver rang a friend of his and he agreed to drive us back to S’ville. I sat up front with the driver while the four girls and the baby all slept in the back.

Later, Chaan Sras told me that one of the women at the wedding approached Chaan Sras’ mother and asked if I was available. She has a twenty year old daughter that she would like to marry off to a barang. Would I be interested in meeting her? The message was passed back to Chaan Sras and she replied on my behalf that I wouldn’t be interested. I remarked that the bride didn’t look too happy during the evening. Chaan Sras said that was because the wedding cost 2000 dollars and they only made 500 dollars back from the money received from guests.
It was good to see a real aspect of Cambodia rather than just the usual tourist places and bars. These people are living in abject poverty and I was welcomed warmly and made to feel at home even though I was intruding on a special family occasion.

My days at the moment are spent reading and trying to write. You will remember the Irish crowd over to pick up their father’s ashes? Well on the night before they left I bought the guitar from them for 20 dollars. I strum on it every now and again in my room. I am not worried about disturbing the neighbours. The guy next door to me is German; he is in his late sixties or early seventies. His hearing must be going because sometimes his TV is really very loud and I can hear every word being spoken. We had a brief chat the other day on the balcony. He spends every day walking around his room and the balcony in his y-fronts. He was stretched out in a hammock when I spoke to him. He is German as previously stated. He has very little English because he attended school during the time of Hitler but is fluent in French, Spanish and Portuguese. He lived in Brazil for eight years but is now in Cambodia for the past eight months. He describes Sihanoukville as his idea of heaven. Well I don’t know that I would call it heaven but I have certainly enjoyed myself here so far. When my month in this guesthouse has finished I will move on somewhere else, maybe back up north and have a look around there.

Some more photos.

Beach Bum

26/10/08

Well I’ve been back in Sihanoukville for about a week now. Chaan Sras has been very good with helping me out regarding digs and moto rental. With her help I have managed to get a month’s accommodation for 130 dollars and rented a motorbike at 80 dollars for the month. Compared to the 15 dollars a night I was paying in Phnom Penh for digs this is a huge saving. Sihanoukville, as you may know, is a seaside resort type of town down the south west end of Cambodia.
One of my main intentions in coming down here was to get away from the city and relax for a while. To slow down and live a life less hectic. I have hoped to spend some serious time at writing to see if I can actually do it. I haven’t been very successful so far to be honest. I have started one short story but haven’t gotten around to finishing it yet.

One of the other items on my agenda was to learn to ride a motor bike. I have only ever had one other experience of motorbikes in my life. My cousin Michelle let me have a go of her bike many years ago. My first experience lasted approximately ten seconds; I pulled on the throttle and rode straight into a wall. I grazed my arm and broke one of the indicator lights on her bike.

This time it was to be different; this time I would do it properly. Chaan Sras brought me out to a lonely road just outside the town and tried to explain as best she could in her pigeon English how to operate a moto. She got many a laugh watching me struggle and panic as I tried to control the little iron pony and keep it in a straight line. Twice I lost control and veered off into the ditch. After half an hour of pottering up and down the road I was starting to get used to it. Eventually Chaan Sras trusted me enough to sit on the back of the moto and let me drive back towards town. As we slowly made our way back towards the main roads a car overtook me. This threw me off for some reason and I panicked a bit. When this happens my hand pulls on the throttle and our speed increases. With the increase of speed my panic increases and I pull harder on the throttle; vicious circle. I had visions of broken limbs or worse as we careered off the road towards a group of trees. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck’, I exclaimed as the trees sped towards us. Chaan Sras was crippled with laughter; it was the funniest situation she had seen in a long time. Some primeval part of my brain, concerned with the art of survival, made me lift my hand away from the throttle and the bike, its progress hampered by the long grass by the road, immediately began to slow down and eventually stop leaving all our limbs and skulls intact. I rented a moto the next day and spent the next day or two driving up and down the road outside the guesthouse until I felt confident enough to head into the centre of town on my own.

My confidence on the bike was to be tested when the other day I agreed to go with Chaan Sras and her friend to see Buddha. They called to my guesthouse on Chaan Sras’ moto and I climbed upon my Honda 100 to follow them. They cut across traffic and drove the wrong way down one road as I tried to keep up. They stopped at a road side store to get some gifts (fruit and some tea leaves) for Buddha. Chaan Sras asked if I was okay. ‘No problem’, I replied as my heart was thumping in my chest. Just then the rain began to fall. We motored on, going ever upwards as the roads got narrower and steeper. I trailed behind as the roads got wetter and slippier.
When we arrived at the temple we were met by a troupe of monkeys who were very interested by the fruit in the plastic bags the two girls carried. Pretty soon we were surrounded and one of them made a grab for one of the bags. The girls didn’t find this funny; in fact they began to become frightened. I grabbed the two bags and put them in the compartment under the seat of my moto. Problem solved for now. We sat around in the rain for a while because the monk was sleeping at present. The monkeys lost interest and retired to the trees in the courtyard. Eventually the monk was ready to receive visitors and I got the fruit from the moto as the girls removed their shoes and went in to sit before the monk and speak to Buddha.

‘Bonjour,’ said the monk as I entered. ‘Parlez vous Francais’? ‘En pue’, I replied. He had no English he explained to me as he stubbed out his cigar. I would say he was in his late forties or early fifties. It is difficult to guess people’s ages in Cambodia because they always look younger than they actually are. A brief chat was then held between the monk and Chaan Sras. At the moment Chaan Sras has some issues in her life that she needs to get sorted. She has a ten month old baby girl. The father is Italian and he has recently arrived back in Cambodia with the intention of taking the child back to Italy to live. Chaan Sras is to accompany him to Italia and see that the child is being looked after properly and when she is happy she will sign over guardianship of the child and return to Cambodia alone. While he is here it is not really acceptable for her to be seen out too often with me as she would get a bad name for herself. She has told me she loves me and wants to stay with me but with the situation at the moment her hands are tied. I simply shrug and say that it is up to her what she wants to do. I have grown accustomed to her face and I like having her around. I will simply sit back and watch how things unfold.

The monk asked for my left hand and with the aid of a magnifying glass proceeded to read my palm. He told me that I had had three women in my life that I had loved. He then looked at my right hand. He told me I would have two children in the future. He then read Chaan Sras’ palms. She too would have two children in her future. He told me that Chaan Sras and I would be very happy together if we chose to be together but that it was up to Chaan Sras at the moment what decisions she would make. I just smiled noncommittally and prepared myself for the blessing. This is the third time I have been drenched by a monk. Chaan Sras and I left then and waited outside with the blessing bowl. We washed each other’s hair with the holy water as we waited on her friend who was still inside with the monk. I can’t for the life of me remember her friends name; her friend has no English at all so I never really got to talk to her.
When her friend came out she was carrying a plastic bag full of food. She is married with children but times are hard at the moment. The monk gave her the food along with twenty dollars and his phone number. Act of charity or making a pass? I don’t know but most of the monks I have met seem to be heavy smokers and sit around all day talking to frustrated women. I drove home alone in the pouring rain.

I have discovered an Irish bar called Darby O’Gills. It is on the main street in town away from the beaches. It is owned and run by an Irish man called Colm. I discovered the bar the last time I was here and the owner recommended that when I go home I should first buy 80 dollars worth of Viagra, smuggle them home and I would make about 2000 euro selling them on the black market. I think I may have mentioned that before. Anyway I have been frequenting this bar which is usually very empty at the moment as they wait for the high season to kick in next month. The other night I was told that one of the regular barmen had died the day before. I had never met him. He was 56 years old. He had taken a fall recently and it is believed that one of his ribs punctured a lung. His body was in Phnom Penh and his family were coming over from Ireland to collect him. The next day the family were coming down to Sihanoukville for a wake. I was most welcome to call in if I liked.

The next evening in true cloak and dagger style Chaan Sras crept up to see me in my room. After a while we decided to pop out for a drink. I suggested Darby O’Gills. We sat at the bar while the family sat at tables outside by the road. The family consisted of the deceased’s sister and her husband and the deceased’s three kids; twin boys and one girl all in their late twenties or early thirties. One of the sons had bought a guitar while in Phnom Penh. He sat strumming it at the table outside. After a few drinks and small talk with the two barmen Chaan Sras had to go home. I kissed her and told her to be careful driving home; I wasn’t ready to leave yet. Myself and one of the barmen, Neil from Drimnagh, sat outside with the grieving family. It wasn’t long before we were all singing and boozing like true Irishmen. I played a number of songs on the guitar and my performance was warmly accepted and appreciated. The beers kept flowing, I never needed to order one, and they just kept coming. At one stage a large fry up of potatoes, sausages and rashers was placed in front of me. I tore into it ravenously and washed it down with another beer. At one stage I had run out of cigarettes, no problem, another packet was placed in front of me.

At about four o’clock in the morning I believed it was time to go home. I gave thanks to all who were there and when I went to settle my bill I was told I had no bill to settle. Many thanks Colm.

Apparently it is coming to the end of the rainy season and the high season will kick in soon. For the moment my days are comparatively quiet and thus I have no excuse for not turning my hand to some writing. When I need to cool down I hop on my moto and drive through the streets of Sihanoukville, the breeze is almost luxuriant as it envelopes my sweaty body and revives my flagging energy. This part of my journey has been by far the quietest and most uneventful but I am enjoying the time alone and I believe it is necessary for me to try and get a few things straight in my head about what I am to do when I eventually return home.

Until next time folks, love to all.

Looking Back...

18/10/08

They left Siem Reap together in a shared taxi. The man who was sharing the taxi sat in the front, he was an army man. A home made tattoo of Angkor Wat was etched onto the back of his hand. He didn’t speak much but he explained that he was going to Phnom Penh on official business, something to do with the trouble on the Thai / Cambodian border.

On their first night in Phnom Penh they argued over something that had been bubbling for a while; an emotional undercurrent that neither had chosen to face up to. She left the next morning; back to Sihanoukville. No problem, Tony the Aussie was also back in town. The next seven nights were spent drinking heavily and trawling bars. The days were spent with hangovers, listlessness, coca cola cravings, sporadic coughing and frustrating language barrier problem conversations with her on the phone.

The date of his return ticket was looming large. What to do? What to do? What would it mean if he went home? What would it mean if he stayed? Tony had gone back to work in Ratanakiri, she was down south of the country. He was alone and had time to think, to reflect. Happy hour began at 4.30pm in the Herb Garden, just up the road from the guesthouse. At five o‘clock he ordered a beer and sat staring at life as it passed him on the street.

As the alcohol kicked in, he thought back on his life. A multitude of memory snapshots presented themselves to his inner eye. He remembered his father’s parents. He remembered their house. The ashtray with the porcelain goldfish on it, or was it meant to be a salmon? The ashtray, usually but not always, sat on the windowsill of the window that looked out on the stunted apple tree standing in the back garden. The tree was beside a garden shed that had a lot of potential but failed to live up to it. It was always dark and musty, full of junk and a large tool box that lay on its side disgorging its rusted contents. It was as if the building had originally been built with grand designs but was never actually finished properly. ‘There’s a message in that’, he thought. He remembered the upright piano in one of the rooms. His father taught him how to play ‘Doe a deer’. As a child he would call down to see his grandparents with his father. He remembered the summers as his father would cut the grass and he would potter around the garden. Time was spent packing the cut grass away, climbing the apple tree but mainly sitting at the piano practicing ‘Doe a deer’. When he got older he used to call down and cut the grass himself. After the job was done and as his grandmother prepared him a meal he would sit at the piano and work out how chords were constructed.

As he moved from drinking beer to sipping on gin and tonics he thought of his mother’s parents. He remembered being so relaxed and at ease in that house. Even recalling the sour smell of stale cigarette smoke emanating from his grandfather’s bedroom brought a smile to his face. His grandfather made model buildings from matchsticks and lollipop sticks. An old plastic washing up liquid bottle could be covered with glue, then sand and seashells, covered with clear varnish to seal the pattern into place and suddenly manifest itself as the base of a reading lamp. It occurred to him that sometimes people could make a change in their life, for the better, but then decide that is the peak of their existence. They coat it in clear varnish and expect it to stay the same way for evermore.

He thought of friends as he fell out of the bar at 2.30am. He sent text messages to them, telling them he loved them. They replied in their own special ways. He got to thinking of the woman he had previously spent six years of his life with. He wondered how she was doing. At that moment he wished only the best for her and felt compelled to send her a text message. Her number wasn’t on his phone but he still knew it off by heart.

‘Hi Y, it’s over a year now. I am living in Cambodia. I still think of you and hope all is well with you x’.

‘U went far’, she replied immediately. ‘I am doing great. I am very happy and getting on with my life, as you are. Much stronger person now, thank God’.

He smiled as he read the text. Life is short and we should see it as an honour to meet the people in life that we do. Feeling that something had shifted in his heart he retired to bed and listened to Jeff Buckley on his iPod. Jeff caught the mood just right.

‘Remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was hallelujah............ hallelujah, hallelujah.

The next morning he had his Cambodian visa extended by three months.

Lara where are you?

04/10/08
Well folks I finally got around to doing the tourist bit here in Siem Reap. The other day during the religious festival of Phchom Ben (ancestor worship) myself and Erica went to see the temples at Angkor Wat. If Cambodian families don't make an offering to the Buddha during Pchuom Ben, it is believed the souls of the dead relatives will return to haunt their descendents. It is a large festival here lasting two to three days. It is a time for family and many of the bars and shops in Siem Reap close for two days. As a result our school was closed too and we decided to avail of the time off by going to see the temples.
Of course every Cambodian in Siem Reap decided to go to the temples that day too. The main temple at Angkor Wat was thronged with local folk. Families sat on blankets on the many acres of grassland, eating picnics as children ran about the place having fun. In the distance could be seen a hot air balloon rising about 200 metres in the air. A great vantage point from which one can view the temples apparently. The main temple of Angkor Wat is huge. Incredibly huge, I mean it is really big; vast even. I can’t really explain to you in words how big it is. All I can say to you is it is huge. It was built centuries ago and I still can’t fathom how they managed to do it without the aid of cranes, lorries, diggers and all the other paraphernalia one would associate with a major building project of today. Angkor Wat is not listed as one of the modern seven wonders of the world but this I believe is because the modern seven wonders were based on a voting poll. Most Cambodians don’t have access to the internet and therefore I’m sure were not even aware of the existence of a poll. Angkor Wat definitely should be listed as one of the seven wonders. Everywhere you look faces and figures are carved into the large stones that make up each chamber or passageway.
After spending time at Angkor Wat our tuk-tuk driver brought us on to the next temple called Angkor Thom. It is surrounded by a large wall that is roughly 3kms square. We entered by the south gate which is served by a bridge with statues lined up on either side. The gate itself is relatively small and we had to queue on the bridge with everyone else and wait our turn to gain access. When we arrived at the temple we could see that elephant rides were available for 10 dollars. It had crossed my mind to experience the temples by going around on an elephant but when I saw these beasts up close and looked at their eyes I imagined I could see infinite sadness therein. I am fully aware I am guilty of anthropomorphism but they looked so old and sad that I didn’t want to play a part in what to them must be a prison sentence of some sort. We walked around the temple and took photos. As usual, they can be seen on my photo website.
Next we went to Ta Prohm. Now this was proper Tomb Raider territory. This temple was the location for one of the Lara Croft movies. The temples here are very old, dating from the 12th century. Trees are growing up through and on top of the ruins. At every turn I was expecting to meet Angelina Jolie in her tight tee-shirt and shorts inviting me to help her search for some ancient mystical treasure. It wasn’t to be so instead I took some more photos and soaked up the ambience.
After just four hours of touring the ruins we were pretty much templed out and returned to the Globalteer guesthouse. This coming Tuesday I will have finished my voluntary work, it is hard to believe that four weeks has gone by so quickly. On the other hand four weeks is a long time to stay in Siem Reap. It is a small town and can soon get boring. If it wasn’t for the work I was doing I would have been gone from here after one week. While all the volunteers are to varying degrees ‘nice’ people I couldn’t shake off a feeling of being lonely. After some reflection I realised that I missed Chaan Sras. The language barrier is ever present and therefore it is hard to gauge the level of sincerity at times but my gut feeling was that I wanted to see her again. She was delighted to receive my phone call and invitation to come back up to Siem Reap. She arrived yesterday evening after travelling 500kms to see me again. Although there is nothing to do in Siem Reap besides eat and drink we are getting on fine and enjoy each other’s company. I’m not in love I hasten to add but I have grown accustomed to her face. When I have finished here we will travel together to Phnom Penh and spend some time there again.
The date of my flight home is growing ever closer. I have mixed feelings about it. I am looking forward to being at home again amongst family and friends but on the other hand I don’t want my journey to end. The money has nearly dried up and I have investigated the possibility of working here. The pay is not great and the hours are pretty lousy. I would be expected to teach at inconvenient hours such as 7.30am to 9.30am and then again later that day at 8.30pm to 10.30pm. While I have enjoyed my experiences of teaching I don’t see myself doing it on a regular basis and being content with that. Planning lessons is a pain in the arse and I am just not motivated enough to go looking for work here. The nearest I have come to work is when a woman offered me a blow job last week. Seriously though folks, I have loved being here but staying long term I don’t believe would be agreeable to me. I am not cut out for the heat and I am walking around with constant mosquito bites, none of the sprays or creams seem to work. Those little bastards just love my blood. Being on holiday somewhere is not the same as actually living there.
As a result of my travels, my perspective on life has definitely changed for the better. I can now see a bigger picture and some things that stressed me before now appear inconsequential. Other things that I believed to be important I now regard as facile. I don’t know what the future holds for me but it isn’t half as daunting anymore.

Siem Reap Update

27/09/08
Today is the first wedding anniversary of my good friends Steven and Mary Browne. It is also the one year anniversary of the end of a six year relationship I had been in. That day, one year ago, marked a change for all three of us. Steven and Mary began a new life as husband and wife; I moved home to my parents’ house, again. For nine months Mary carried their first child who would become known, on arrival, as Daniel. I spent those nine months running through the gamut of emotions; relief, guilt, anger, disappointment, fear, self recrimination, confusion; most of them concurrently. The last three months would have to be spent doing something radically different. Since Cameron Diaz wasn’t open to the idea of spending a quarter of a year hanging around Ballybrack with me I decided to travel. Most of what I have experienced in these past three months has been recorded on this blog. Not everything, but most of it. It certainly has been an incredible few months and it isn’t over yet.

It is Saturday afternoon as I write. I have been neglecting my blogging duties so today I intend to make up for it. I began writing today while having a hotdog in Lucky Burger. I have now arrived in the Blue Pumpkin coffee shop. I have ordered a coconut and wild berries sorbet. As I wait for my cool afternoon delight I have been given an icy cold wet towel to wipe my face and neck with. Oh, such excellent service. As I walked the few blocks from burger joint to coffee shop a large rat appeared on the pavement beside me. It was the largest rat I have seen in my life. A Cambodian mother and child sitting outside a shop front saw it too. It was obvious from their apathetic stares that it was nothing new to them. This rat didn’t scurry along close to the wall. It walked nonchalantly in the middle of the pavement , in broad daylight, sniffing about the place just like a dog. I walked on.

Chaan Sras called up to Siem Reap to see me. She stayed six nights in the guest house next door to my lodgings. She would happily have stayed for longer but as it was I who was paying for her accommodation I gently insisted she go back home with the promise from me that I would call back down to Sihanoukville to see her before I go home. The night before she arrived I sat alone at a bar in Pub Street. A voice beside me said, ‘Hello handsome, where you from?’ Turning to my left I beheld a lady boy smiling at me and enquiring if it was okay to sit beside me. I said nothing; he sat down beside me. More questions, ‘What your name? Have you girlfriend? Will you buy me drink?’. I had half a beer to go yet. I attracted the barmaid’s attention and indicated that a drink should be served to the ‘lady’. I could see the staff snickering behind their hands. We are all God’s children, as the saying goes, and I have no problem buying a drink for a bloke who is a bit mixed up. It was the not so gentle poking in the ribs to punctuate each question that made me finish my beer quicker than I had intended. As I got down from the barstool and paid my bill, the lady boy asked me if I was sleeping alone that night. I said I was and that I was quite happy about the fact. ‘Good bye’, I said, ‘Good luck for you’. The staff looked disappointed that the barang had read the situation correctly and was not going to be faced with a ‘Crying Game’ moment later on. The lady boy was left to finish his whiskey and coke alone.
When Chaan Sras arrived the next day and I related the story to her she shrugged her shoulders and said it was up to me what I wanted to do. If that was the kind of thing I liked then that was okay, could I just let her know. I know how these things work over here, if I spend a lot of time and energy insisting that the idea of me with a lady boy is terrible, she will take it that I am declaring undying love for her, Chann Sras, that is. So I simply said, ‘Yeh, fair enough, I’ll let you know’.
During the week, as we walked down Pub Street hand in hand, I spied the same lady boy walking from the opposite direction. I discreetly pointed him out to Chaan Sras. Next thing I know, the lady boy is shouting directly at Chaan Sras; a barrage of Cambodian insults aimed right at her. Chaan Sras squeezed my hand and made straight for the nearest tuk-tuk. The driver immediately fired up his engine and without looking back drove us away from the irate cross dresser. ‘How strange’, I thought. Chaan Sras wouldn’t talk about it in the tuk-tuk. It was dark as we arrived back at the guesthouse. I had to run back to my digs for something. Coming back I realised I had the key for Chaan Sras’s room; she couldn’t get in until my return. Outside my place two lady boys walked by. ‘Hello sir, you want massage?’ Jesus man, they’re everywhere. ‘Otey, or’kun’, I said as I disappeared down the alleyway that leads to the Golden Village Guesthouse. Chaan Sras stood waiting in the alleyway. Just as we kissed the two lady boys appeared. Seeing me with a woman they did an about turn and vanished back around the corner. Chaan Sras explained to me then that the lady boys in Siem Reap are ‘powerful’. They appear to have some sort of mafia thing going on. Even the police are afraid of them. If you make a lady boy in Siem Reap angry you could end up dead. The lady boy had obviously remembered me and took out his anger on Chaan Sras.

In Siem Reap there are numerous pizza restaurants. They have names such as Happy Herb Pizza and Happy Smile Special Pizza. Not being a great fan of Asian food these establishments are a life line for me. The pizzas are good. Served with the toppings of your choice, they are also sprinkled with marijuana. For about an hour after eating a pizza I usually feel happy, I usually feel special and I tend to smile a lot. If you want to feel happier still they are more than willing to sell you a bag of ‘seasoning’ for ten dollars. I have not been tempted as I don’t fancy having to deal with the police around here. From all accounts the police are incredibly corrupt. There is respect for the army but the police are loathed by everyone. I have been told that it costs a lot of money to become a police man and then you have to pay for your ‘patch’. When you have your patch it is up to you how many bribes you can accumulate. The patches that get more bribes cost more initially to buy but if it is a good patch you could make your money back quickly.

For years I have had a thing for Japanese women. To me they were simply stunning. Here in Siem Reap, being a mainly tourist town, all nationalities are walking the streets. Americans, Europeans, Aussies, Chinese and Japanese carry large cameras from restaurant to temple, taking photos of the Apsara dancers, the amputee band playing traditional Khmer music on the roadside, and the quaint French colonial style buildings. I am amazed to admit that the Japanese women I have seen pale in comparison to the Cambodian women. The local girls have beautiful, smooth, dark skin. Practically all of them are slim with excellent posture, long jet-black silky hair and beautiful brown eyes a man could lose himself in. Sadly some of them try to bleach their skin in an attempt to look more western. Some Cambodian women can look very serious, aloof, or indeed very proud looking. Just like the Thais though, when they smile their whole face lights up and radiates pure joy and warmth. Seeing a Cambodian woman drive by on a scooter gets my heart racing. Her hair blowing in the wind, her tee-shirt clinging to her lithe body, her shorts clinging even tighter... I had better stop this train of thought, I’m still in the Blue Pumpkin and I’m afraid to stand up now. Therefore, I have ordered a pot of green tea as I swat flies away from the mosquito bites on my shins and feet. The American girl at the other table with her back to me has an arse the size of a small country and the g-string that is riding up her lower back is helping to cool my ardour somewhat.

Relations with the other volunteers have improved as some have left and new ones have arrived. Suzy, who was to work with Rhonda and me transferred to the New Hope project as she wants to work with teenagers. Erica, a brummie, arrived at the start of the week just past. She is working with me and Rhonda in Sala Tessa. On her first night in town we sat up on the rooftop talking until sunrise. We have a lot in common.

You will see that I have posted a few pictures of Sala Tessa. The children, (they are my children now, as I might take a few home with me), are just adorable. I love being in the class with them. I have spent four days trying to get them to pronounce the word ‘fish’ correctly but still to no avail. They can pronounce ‘F’ and ‘Sh’ but when said together it comes out as ‘Fwiss’. I can’t really put into words my experiences with these children. It has made me realise how vulnerable children really are in the world and has strengthened my resolve never to have any of my own. For surely if I had a child I would never sleep again for fear of something happening to them. As well as trying to teach them English we encourage them to play games and get involved with arts and crafts. I made a large snakes and ladders board one evening, Chaan Sras helped me, and brought it into class the next day. With the board stuck up firmly on the wall I divided the class into two teams. Each team member got a chance to role the dice. The whoops of delight and squeals of anguish as they moved up ladders and down snakes were a joy to behold. We carefully counted together, in English, as team A got nearer to the final square only to be usurped by team B who were lucky enough to land on a ladder and make it to the end first.

As I am typing this blog I am back at the Globalteers headquarters. I’m up on the roof and a strong wind is getting up. My cigarette packet has already been blown off the table and the writing pad I used while in the Blue Pumpkin has been trying valiantly to go the same way. I shall sign off for now because it is going to lash rain soon and I am meeting Erica in town for a few pints. Cheers to my good friend Niall for ringing me the other night. It was good to hear your voice, yah crazy bastard.

Love to all and Happy Birthday Mam x.

'Teacher, teacher'

It is Sunday night as I write; I have been in Siem Reap since Wednesday. I like the town, it is geared towards tourists but, in contrast to other places I have been, it is very laid back. It is a relatively small town with a multitude of bars and restaurants wrestling for space with genuine massage boutiques and souvenir shops. I’ve been to both day markets and the night market; ‘same, same’ as they say around Asia. There are basically about four or five stalls repeated over and over throughout the markets and it gets repetitive and boring after a short time.

Over the past few nights I have been out for meals and drinks with some of the other volunteers here. Since I have taken up lodgings here two others have arrived and I am no longer the new kid on the block. Socially speaking it is probably the coldest place I have been to so far. It strikes me as being a bit cliquish in ways. Tonight I wasn’t asked if I would like to join some of the others for dinner. Myself and one of the new girls, Charlie from Arizona, were left to our own devices regarding dining. We got a tuk-tuk down to where we knew the others were eating. Just as we arrived they were leaving. When I asked what bar they were going to for a drink I was told that they didn’t know; they left Charlie and me in the restaurant. Sod them.

More importantly though is that I have spent two days at the project I am working with. It is a place called Sala Tesa and is basically a large shed out in the countryside. I was working with Rhonda who hails from Australia and Sam (one of the guys from the restaurant incident) who is English and just fresh out of University. Sam and I are due to help with building the new classroom this Tuesday. Sam is finished then and Suzanna, who just arrived last night from London, is taking over from him. I had a few drinks with Suzanna last night and we spent time together today walking around town. She can’t wait to get started and her enthusiasm is infectious.

As I set out on my first day to the project I felt apprehensive and concerned that I would not make any connection with the children. Those of you who know me well will know that I am in fact not too comfortable around children. My fears proved to have no foundation. As soon as I arrived I was met with about fifteen smiling faces and a multitude of small hands looking for a ‘high five’. From all sides I was asked, ‘Teacher, teacher, what is your name?’ I look positively gigantic next to most of them. One of the small boys kept placing his skinny little arm next to mine and marvelling at the size of my big hairy forearm. One of the girls, Leah, who is aged around 10 years took me around the land for a brief tour. The land and the ‘classroom’ are owned by her father Khan. Leah lives in a thrown together two storey shed (access to upstairs via a ladder) with her father, mother and about ten other adopted brothers and sisters. The cooking is done on a large outdoor stove built by Khan, the washing, both dishes and clothes, is done by her mother at a water pump beside the classroom. I was shown the wooden pallet that all the boys sleep together on. At one stage on the tour I saw some children handling and washing what looked to me like snot. When I asked what it was they explained by showing me, it was dried sap from the trees around us. They washed it, added sugar and ate it.

Classes are from 1.00pm to 5.00pm, so no early starts which is fine by me. There are four classes, each an hour long. The very youngest are in the first class and they are aged around 5 to 6 years, the second and third classes have some basic English and ages range from 6 to 10 years. The final class contains only six pupils with much better English and all aged from 10 years to 14 years. A lot of the young students have head lice and their clothes are filthy. Rhonda, who has been here several times over the past few years, told me that she has seen children come to class and fall asleep because they have been working in the fields since daybreak. I have sat with some of the children on a one to one basis and complimented them on their drawings and worked with them on their pronunciation of certain words. They are absolutely chuffed to have someone spend some time with them personally.

We make sure we are fed, watered and toileted before we go to the project. If you need the toilet while there you will have to discreetly find a tree to hide behind. As is the custom I leave my sandals on the step outside the classroom. I noticed that whenever I stepped outside again my sandals had moved. Sam explained to me that the kids waiting outside to go into the next class would be wearing my sandals for fun and marvelling at the size of them. At the end of each class there are more high fives and touchingly many hugs from the children (both boys and girls) before they leave the classroom.

I was disappointed to be told that the classroom would be closed this Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Khan had decreed these days to be holidays; he doesn’t have to explain to us why, it’s his land and his classroom. As I have already said, I’ll be there on Tuesday to help with the building of the new classroom. Hopefully then from next Thursday we will get a good run at giving classes for the next three weeks.

The guesthouse has furnished me with a bike so I can get about the town at my leisure. My brilliant plan is to get up early each morning and cycle for an hour or so before going to the project. It hasn’t actually worked out that way yet but I’ll let you know if it does.