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.