Thursday, November 27, 2008
A Birthday in Cambodia
I've been trying to post this for a while, since September actually. This is what happens when you go to an ice cream shop and request a sort of birthday ice cream treat.
The Gecko
Have you ever seen a gecko hunt? It is quite beautiful to watch. One evening as I sat at my desk, I looked up from my work on a lesson plan to see a green striped gecko crawl towards the light of my lamp. Two or three of them are always crawling on the walls of my room somewhere, and my guess is that this particular one noticed the plethora of moths on the other side of the mosquito net. My guest came towards the light, and noticing my presence raised its head to look at me more closely. The black eyes on top of its head reflected the light of the lamp, and it stayed in this position for a few seconds. I remained motionless, hoping to give my reptile friend permission to hunt in my domain. The gecko bowed its head in gratitude, and continued with its search for an evening meal.
After spotting an attainable quarry, the gecko steadied himself. With one quick reflex, it lunged, flew diagonally down the wall, opened its mouth, and swallowed a nearby moth. The tail and feet worked quickly to reattach the flat belly to the wall, and soon the creature was adroitly righted. A pink lizard tongue slithered out of the mouth, and licked up and over the teeth. Wasting no time, the gecko turned itself around and continued the hunt. With the same movements, it swallowed two more moths and a mosquito. The prey in this region soon got wise to the gecko’s actions, and moved away to other regions of the room beyond the green mosquito net.
The gecko moved away as well, and it crawled away into the darkness. From some corner of the room, it began its call; a sort of “Ack Ack Ack Ack!” clicking sound. I interpreted it as a form of thanks for the evening meal.
With all the bugs around, it is good to have a gecko nearby. It was also Thanksgiving day, and I am glad that at least one of us had a feast.
After spotting an attainable quarry, the gecko steadied himself. With one quick reflex, it lunged, flew diagonally down the wall, opened its mouth, and swallowed a nearby moth. The tail and feet worked quickly to reattach the flat belly to the wall, and soon the creature was adroitly righted. A pink lizard tongue slithered out of the mouth, and licked up and over the teeth. Wasting no time, the gecko turned itself around and continued the hunt. With the same movements, it swallowed two more moths and a mosquito. The prey in this region soon got wise to the gecko’s actions, and moved away to other regions of the room beyond the green mosquito net.
The gecko moved away as well, and it crawled away into the darkness. From some corner of the room, it began its call; a sort of “Ack Ack Ack Ack!” clicking sound. I interpreted it as a form of thanks for the evening meal.
With all the bugs around, it is good to have a gecko nearby. It was also Thanksgiving day, and I am glad that at least one of us had a feast.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Autobiography As A Haiku
When the dry season begins in Cambodia, the weather changes overnight. A cool wind sweeps down from the Himalayas and blows away the monsoons. The farmers notice the change, and they prepare to harvest the fields of rice plants that have turned golden. Columns of workers armed with hoes, curved sickles, and straw baskets begin to appear on the side of the roads. A code of dress for this work is required: rubber sandals, long pants dirtied by mud, long sleeve shirts, straw hats, and cloth tied around their heads to protect themselves from the sun.
Reaching their destination, they wade across an irrigation canal in water up to their waist. As soon as they get to the other side, they begin to work. Standing in ankle deep mud, they bend over the tall thin plants and began to cut them down. Using one hand to hold them in place, they cut the plant down to its stump. When they have cut enough, they hand their bundles to another person who ties them together. They are then placed in a straw basket to be collected later.
The process repeats. Bend over. Swish! Give the bundles to the collector. Every few hours, a wooden cart with two great big wheels and driven by two oxen comes along and collects the bundles. By a concatenation of events after this, the end result is found in my morning breakfast bowl.
I ask my students if they want to be rice farmers. They tell me no, for it is very hard. I ask them if they want to be anything else when they leave school. They tell me yes.
“Well,” I say, “Better practice your English then.”
Reaching their destination, they wade across an irrigation canal in water up to their waist. As soon as they get to the other side, they begin to work. Standing in ankle deep mud, they bend over the tall thin plants and began to cut them down. Using one hand to hold them in place, they cut the plant down to its stump. When they have cut enough, they hand their bundles to another person who ties them together. They are then placed in a straw basket to be collected later.
The process repeats. Bend over. Swish! Give the bundles to the collector. Every few hours, a wooden cart with two great big wheels and driven by two oxen comes along and collects the bundles. By a concatenation of events after this, the end result is found in my morning breakfast bowl.
I ask my students if they want to be rice farmers. They tell me no, for it is very hard. I ask them if they want to be anything else when they leave school. They tell me yes.
“Well,” I say, “Better practice your English then.”
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The New Music Group
On Sunday, I journeyed to the town of Pourk to meet a group of musicians that my co-teacher knows. Since he mentioned the existence of the group, I had been dying to meet them and possibly to play with them. As luck would have it, the group really likes the Khmer music that I can produce on the violin. They want me to come back on Sunday, and I hope that this can become a part of my normal week’s schedule.
The group consisted of several instruments, with the addition of myself on the violin. The name of this kind of ensemble in Khmer is a vung phleng kar, which usually can be found at weddings. All of the musicians played chordophones, which means that they had strings, and they played with a good amount of skill. There was a kimm (a small hammered zither), a krapeu (three stringed zither), a tror chhe (spike fiddle tuned to G-D), and a tror so tauch (D-A), and one or two drums.
I was curious to see how the group would receive the western violin, but the fact is that the instrument is so similar to its eastern cousin, the spiked fiddle, that the members of the group warmed to its sound. My salvation in gaining acceptance was in the fact that I had a copy of a book containing many Cambodian children’s songs transcribed into western notation. Although many of the songs were in a different key, I was able to slide my hand up the fingerboard of the violin and transpose in my head while we were playing. It was a little difficult at first, but I soon got the hang of it. Many in the group were familiar with these songs, and I spent nearly three hours sitting cross-legged on the floor of a wooden hut going from one to another. After the three hours, I had to excuse myself for want of rest and luncheon.
The song uploaded here is of the first time the group and I played the song “Oh Pray Tey Srok Khmer” (Homage to country-state of Khmer people), and was recorded after one guy was asked not to play to spike fiddle because he played out of tune. I plan to do a more full analysis on the recording, but judging from its sound the music is largely homophonic. This is that the melody is followed throughout the song, which is repeated several times, but that there are slight deviations from it.
(My apologies for the picture at the beginning of the movie, but it is the only way to upload audio files to blogger.)
My ethnomusicology skills are admittedly rusty, but I am hoping to learn more about music of this kind. I have no idea where this discovery of musical tradition will lead me to, but I am pretty excited about it.
The group consisted of several instruments, with the addition of myself on the violin. The name of this kind of ensemble in Khmer is a vung phleng kar, which usually can be found at weddings. All of the musicians played chordophones, which means that they had strings, and they played with a good amount of skill. There was a kimm (a small hammered zither), a krapeu (three stringed zither), a tror chhe (spike fiddle tuned to G-D), and a tror so tauch (D-A), and one or two drums.
I was curious to see how the group would receive the western violin, but the fact is that the instrument is so similar to its eastern cousin, the spiked fiddle, that the members of the group warmed to its sound. My salvation in gaining acceptance was in the fact that I had a copy of a book containing many Cambodian children’s songs transcribed into western notation. Although many of the songs were in a different key, I was able to slide my hand up the fingerboard of the violin and transpose in my head while we were playing. It was a little difficult at first, but I soon got the hang of it. Many in the group were familiar with these songs, and I spent nearly three hours sitting cross-legged on the floor of a wooden hut going from one to another. After the three hours, I had to excuse myself for want of rest and luncheon.
The song uploaded here is of the first time the group and I played the song “Oh Pray Tey Srok Khmer” (Homage to country-state of Khmer people), and was recorded after one guy was asked not to play to spike fiddle because he played out of tune. I plan to do a more full analysis on the recording, but judging from its sound the music is largely homophonic. This is that the melody is followed throughout the song, which is repeated several times, but that there are slight deviations from it.
(My apologies for the picture at the beginning of the movie, but it is the only way to upload audio files to blogger.)
My ethnomusicology skills are admittedly rusty, but I am hoping to learn more about music of this kind. I have no idea where this discovery of musical tradition will lead me to, but I am pretty excited about it.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Looking at America From Cambodia via Australia
I remember America. I have not spent such an amount of time in this place that I have forgotten where it is that I have come from. After an intense, sudden, and dramatic change in one’s lifestyle, it is easy to forget. I have been in this country for over three months now, but for some reason it feels like I have been here much longer. I remember America with as many memories as I can call to mind, but I do not pine away for hamburgers and the golden shores of California every night. This is so despite the fact that these memories do make for excellent daydreaming. Rather, I remember America because I am excited about what is happening over there right now.
When I receive news about what is going on in the world, it is most often by FM radio. Other sources of information come by mail, which I receive once a month, and by sporadic access to the Internet. However, these are not as readily available as the information I receive wirelessly. In the north of country, the only radio station that broadcasts on the FM band in English is Radio Australia. The reception is clear on most days, although I usually have to do some frequent adjustments to the antenna. Picking up stations on the shortwave band is rather unreliable and only available at night, due to the sun’s rays hitting the upper reaches of the atmosphere, and this makes the Australian news station my only readily available source of information about the world. When I am preparing for school in the morning, the program that is usually on the air is called Connect Asia, which has some information about Cambodia or the region of Southeast Asia. It is through this program that I am able receive the latest updates about the dispute over the current border dispute between Thailand and Cambodia.
Other than this particular one, most of the programs that Radio Australia broadcasts are about Australia. As a frequent listener to this station, I have learned that wallabies are a frequent cause of traffic accidents in the northern territories, and that there is a great environmental controversy surrounding the building of a pulp mill in Tasmania. On occasion, there are some brief snippets about America. However, this changed completely on the day of November 4th. The entire day was dedicated to covering the US presidential election, and there was barely any other news about the rest of the world.
When Radio Australia announced that Barack Obama was expected to win the election, I was sitting motionless next to my radio. I had just returned hastily from the school to have lunch after the morning’s session of classes, and I was eagerly anticipating the frequent updates. I listened to both John McCain as he gave his concession speech, and to Barack Obama as he gave his victory speech. When the time came for lunch, I told my host family and the other teachers who ate with us the news of what was happening in America. They had no idea that the country was even having an election, but they were happy that I was happy at its result. I kept the radio turned on for most of the day while I did laundry and other household chores, and listened to whatever program was on.
On the whole, it seemed that the Australian media welcomed the news that Obama will be the next US president. One program featured a panel discussion with listeners calling in and sharing their views, and most of the comments had to do with how Obama might treat the Australian-American alliance. There was also some discussion about how the election of a black man as president of a predominately white nation was symbolic of what America represented to the world; this dream of not being a prisoner of your social class. At least for now, the new administration fits in exactly about what the Australians, and probably most everyone else in the world, judge American culture to be.
As an American living abroad, I could not be happier with the news. When I have traveled over the past eight years, I have continually been ashamed of America’s standing in the world as an arrogant, bullying, and blundering superpower. I am relieved, to say the least, that I no longer will have to prove to every foreigner I meet that not all Americans are like George W. Bush. I also imagine that the American talking heads are raising the same points that their Australian counterparts have discussed on the air. That is that while there is this euphoria surrounding the end of the Bush presidency, there are a lot of expectations placed on the shoulders of our new man in the White House. Some of these expectations may be realistic and reasonable, but others may be not.
Much remains to be seen what will happen in the next four years, but I am personally very excited about Obama’s plan for the Peace Corps. Our budget was cut dramatically recently, and there has been a lot rumors flying around about what is going to happen to us poor PCV’s. I am sure that some of us have imagined some nightmarish situation where the Peace Corps tells us what the true ramifications of what the budget will be. I myself dreamed one night of getting a text message on my cell phone that read, “I’m sorry to inform you that due to recent budget cuts, we will no longer be providing medical treatment for some of the more costly diseases such as Typhoid or Malaria. Please see the nearest practitioner of the more cost-effective treatments, such as traditional medicine, instead.” I woke up with a start, for the traditional methods of healing in this country frighten me to no end. I am therefore very grateful that Obama was elected because of his commitment to service, and because of his plan to increase the size of the Peace Corps to 16,000 people. I imagine that that would mean more money for us for things like secondary projects, grants, teaching supplies, etc.
I have faith that things will change. Perhaps even for people like me.
When I receive news about what is going on in the world, it is most often by FM radio. Other sources of information come by mail, which I receive once a month, and by sporadic access to the Internet. However, these are not as readily available as the information I receive wirelessly. In the north of country, the only radio station that broadcasts on the FM band in English is Radio Australia. The reception is clear on most days, although I usually have to do some frequent adjustments to the antenna. Picking up stations on the shortwave band is rather unreliable and only available at night, due to the sun’s rays hitting the upper reaches of the atmosphere, and this makes the Australian news station my only readily available source of information about the world. When I am preparing for school in the morning, the program that is usually on the air is called Connect Asia, which has some information about Cambodia or the region of Southeast Asia. It is through this program that I am able receive the latest updates about the dispute over the current border dispute between Thailand and Cambodia.
Other than this particular one, most of the programs that Radio Australia broadcasts are about Australia. As a frequent listener to this station, I have learned that wallabies are a frequent cause of traffic accidents in the northern territories, and that there is a great environmental controversy surrounding the building of a pulp mill in Tasmania. On occasion, there are some brief snippets about America. However, this changed completely on the day of November 4th. The entire day was dedicated to covering the US presidential election, and there was barely any other news about the rest of the world.
When Radio Australia announced that Barack Obama was expected to win the election, I was sitting motionless next to my radio. I had just returned hastily from the school to have lunch after the morning’s session of classes, and I was eagerly anticipating the frequent updates. I listened to both John McCain as he gave his concession speech, and to Barack Obama as he gave his victory speech. When the time came for lunch, I told my host family and the other teachers who ate with us the news of what was happening in America. They had no idea that the country was even having an election, but they were happy that I was happy at its result. I kept the radio turned on for most of the day while I did laundry and other household chores, and listened to whatever program was on.
On the whole, it seemed that the Australian media welcomed the news that Obama will be the next US president. One program featured a panel discussion with listeners calling in and sharing their views, and most of the comments had to do with how Obama might treat the Australian-American alliance. There was also some discussion about how the election of a black man as president of a predominately white nation was symbolic of what America represented to the world; this dream of not being a prisoner of your social class. At least for now, the new administration fits in exactly about what the Australians, and probably most everyone else in the world, judge American culture to be.
As an American living abroad, I could not be happier with the news. When I have traveled over the past eight years, I have continually been ashamed of America’s standing in the world as an arrogant, bullying, and blundering superpower. I am relieved, to say the least, that I no longer will have to prove to every foreigner I meet that not all Americans are like George W. Bush. I also imagine that the American talking heads are raising the same points that their Australian counterparts have discussed on the air. That is that while there is this euphoria surrounding the end of the Bush presidency, there are a lot of expectations placed on the shoulders of our new man in the White House. Some of these expectations may be realistic and reasonable, but others may be not.
Much remains to be seen what will happen in the next four years, but I am personally very excited about Obama’s plan for the Peace Corps. Our budget was cut dramatically recently, and there has been a lot rumors flying around about what is going to happen to us poor PCV’s. I am sure that some of us have imagined some nightmarish situation where the Peace Corps tells us what the true ramifications of what the budget will be. I myself dreamed one night of getting a text message on my cell phone that read, “I’m sorry to inform you that due to recent budget cuts, we will no longer be providing medical treatment for some of the more costly diseases such as Typhoid or Malaria. Please see the nearest practitioner of the more cost-effective treatments, such as traditional medicine, instead.” I woke up with a start, for the traditional methods of healing in this country frighten me to no end. I am therefore very grateful that Obama was elected because of his commitment to service, and because of his plan to increase the size of the Peace Corps to 16,000 people. I imagine that that would mean more money for us for things like secondary projects, grants, teaching supplies, etc.
I have faith that things will change. Perhaps even for people like me.
Working Notes on Siem Reap
Siem Reap is a town in Cambodia that has been described hundreds of times in travel journals, blogs, books, and magazines over the last century. The simple reason for this is that the town is a base camp from which one can see the temple compounds of Anchor Wat, Anchor Thom, and a variety of other sites. The airport allows tourists to quickly fly from Thailand, stay at one of the many luxurious and exotic looking hotels, and visit the famous sites. The French colonial architecture and the hundreds of signs in English of the town alone give it a certain artificial atmosphere.
The town offers many western services and amenities because the place is such a tourist hub, and such organization and availability of western products is not without its cost. Siem Reap is a town that is ready to suck the very lint out of your wallet. When I go there on bi-monthly trips, the thing that almost always empties my wallet is food. Were I given an unlimited amount of money to spend in one day there, I would buy peanut butter, Nutella, Pepperidge Farm cookies, granola, and cheese from Lucky Mart, omelets and yogurt breakfasts with coffee at Common Grounds Café, hamburgers at Burgers Without Borders, pizza dinners at le Papier Tigre or the Pizza Company, and maybe after dinner drinks at a bar down the street named Anchor What?. I assure you that this would cost an obscene amount of money, particularly for a person who is used to paying about thirty cents for coffee in rural towns.
I have come to view western food as being an evil temptress. She can be found in the places that provide such things, and the alluring atmosphere in there is her accomplice. I can provide an excellent example of why this is so. There exists near pub street, which is aptly named, a coffee bar/restaurant named the Blue Pumpkin. It has a balcony upstairs where I can relax and eat a very nice breakfast, and the expansive room behind it is lined with white linen couches. Several large windows look out onto the street below, and the patrons are usually quiet enough so that one can work undisturbed. It is also air-conditioned, which is a rare enough luxury that can make you never want to leave the place at all. If you dine there you can use their complementary wifi, and you can stay there for as long as you like. The danger of this, however, is that one breakfast turns into ordering another cup of orange juice, to another cup of orange juice, to maybe a lime-watermelon smoothie, and pretty soon you have spent twelve dollars. It may not seem like much to those reading this in America, but it really is if you have a tight budget.
Surprisingly, however, western food is alone in her efforts to rob me blind. None of the other goods and crafts appeal to me as much as they do to the tourists. For example, I once debated whether or not to buy a very nice looking bedspread from one of the tourists markets. Upon thinking about what it would look like in my room, the thought did occur to me that this expensive piece of weaving would simply be eaten alive by the little black bugs that have become my chief annoyance of late.
I hate Siem Reap, and I love it at the same time. I love having access to the Internet, sending mail, and eating ice cream all at same time. I hate having to pay for it all, and knowing that I will not see it for several weeks on end. Oddly enough, what is more difficult for me is coming back to Anchor having enjoyed everything western for a few days. It takes me at least a week to get back into the swing of things because this town is so dramatically different from where I live.
Culture shock, it seems, has become a permanent fixture in my life.
The town offers many western services and amenities because the place is such a tourist hub, and such organization and availability of western products is not without its cost. Siem Reap is a town that is ready to suck the very lint out of your wallet. When I go there on bi-monthly trips, the thing that almost always empties my wallet is food. Were I given an unlimited amount of money to spend in one day there, I would buy peanut butter, Nutella, Pepperidge Farm cookies, granola, and cheese from Lucky Mart, omelets and yogurt breakfasts with coffee at Common Grounds Café, hamburgers at Burgers Without Borders, pizza dinners at le Papier Tigre or the Pizza Company, and maybe after dinner drinks at a bar down the street named Anchor What?. I assure you that this would cost an obscene amount of money, particularly for a person who is used to paying about thirty cents for coffee in rural towns.
I have come to view western food as being an evil temptress. She can be found in the places that provide such things, and the alluring atmosphere in there is her accomplice. I can provide an excellent example of why this is so. There exists near pub street, which is aptly named, a coffee bar/restaurant named the Blue Pumpkin. It has a balcony upstairs where I can relax and eat a very nice breakfast, and the expansive room behind it is lined with white linen couches. Several large windows look out onto the street below, and the patrons are usually quiet enough so that one can work undisturbed. It is also air-conditioned, which is a rare enough luxury that can make you never want to leave the place at all. If you dine there you can use their complementary wifi, and you can stay there for as long as you like. The danger of this, however, is that one breakfast turns into ordering another cup of orange juice, to another cup of orange juice, to maybe a lime-watermelon smoothie, and pretty soon you have spent twelve dollars. It may not seem like much to those reading this in America, but it really is if you have a tight budget.
Surprisingly, however, western food is alone in her efforts to rob me blind. None of the other goods and crafts appeal to me as much as they do to the tourists. For example, I once debated whether or not to buy a very nice looking bedspread from one of the tourists markets. Upon thinking about what it would look like in my room, the thought did occur to me that this expensive piece of weaving would simply be eaten alive by the little black bugs that have become my chief annoyance of late.
I hate Siem Reap, and I love it at the same time. I love having access to the Internet, sending mail, and eating ice cream all at same time. I hate having to pay for it all, and knowing that I will not see it for several weeks on end. Oddly enough, what is more difficult for me is coming back to Anchor having enjoyed everything western for a few days. It takes me at least a week to get back into the swing of things because this town is so dramatically different from where I live.
Culture shock, it seems, has become a permanent fixture in my life.
Beware of Carelessness In Your Work
Do not worry, for there was no injury suffered by anyone in this accident. It happens more often than you would think.
My School is Flooded
This is, I’m afraid to say, what the grounds of my school look like now. The rainy season has come and dumped enough water in this district that flooding has lasted for several weeks now. Every time I come to school, I ride my bicycle through a low-lying lake. When I walk to class, I have to roll up my pants and trudge through the mud to where I am supposed to teach. When I return home, I wash off my feet vigorously with soap and water for fear of some infection that might have found itself attached to the extremities. It is quite awful to have to do this. Every day I pray that the rains will stop soon and that the waters will go down, but so far my prayers have not been answered.
The Mosquito
I am the vampire
Made real from the depths of your imagination.
I lurk in the dark places during the day
Creeping slowly
From underneath your papers and books
To the insides of your clothes.
At dusk I am fearless
And the world is my kingdom.
You fear me
Because you know our bite carries the possibility
Of deadly disease.
I am always around you
Even when you think that I am not
You may kill me with smoke, flame, poison, and electrocution
But there are thousands like me to take my place
You may hide in your nets day and night
But we are always waiting just outside them.
We will always win
And you know it.
Made real from the depths of your imagination.
I lurk in the dark places during the day
Creeping slowly
From underneath your papers and books
To the insides of your clothes.
At dusk I am fearless
And the world is my kingdom.
You fear me
Because you know our bite carries the possibility
Of deadly disease.
I am always around you
Even when you think that I am not
You may kill me with smoke, flame, poison, and electrocution
But there are thousands like me to take my place
You may hide in your nets day and night
But we are always waiting just outside them.
We will always win
And you know it.
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