I live in the hottest place on earth. That is a lie, of course. I do not know if this climate is the hottest one where a human being can live, but it is certainly the hottest place that I have ever known. Some days are spent in languid stupor because of it, and my nights are stained with the sweat streaming from my pores. In this oven, there is no relief.
When I fall asleep, I dream as any man can dream. The subconscious controls the fleeting images of memory, twisting them into eccentric paths for me to follow. Sometimes I can see myself, and other times I cannot see anything at all (I am not even sure if the protagonist in my dreams is me). On occasion, the subconscious has not thought things out thoroughly enough. One night, I dreamed that I was home in America, eating gigantic sandwiches and walking around the capitol building late at night. It was certainly fantastic enough, I tell you, but it was not believable. The moment I asked someone, “shouldn’t I be someplace else?” the dream stopped. I awoke in my bed half screaming because it ended so suddenly. It was as if I had caught the sub-consciousness off guard without a moment to think. Rather than think of an exit strategy, the devil simply pulled the plug!
One night, I was given the most wonderful dream. It took me far away from my airless nights, to a place somewhere I had never been before. It was in the exact opposite of the place in which I live. It was cold, with every beautiful and wonderful thing that that single word has to offer. I was lifted from my mosquito enclave and flown over the earth, landing in a snow-covered plane between two mountain ranges. For some reason, I was still only wearing the T-shirt and kromah I wear to bed. However, it was not freezing. The wind came up and barreled down upon me like a wind tunnel, and yet it felt as refreshing as a giant air conditioning machine. Snow was falling on my bare feet, and yet I did not seem to mind. About a hundred yards away from where I stood lay a small village. Gray colored chalets made of stone and wood were arranged along a main street. I could see smoke coming out of the chimneys, so I decided to walk over there.
As I entered the edge of the village, a large man came out of one of the houses. He was dressed all in heavy fur, with a ski goggles, and a mask on his face. A giant red beard engulfed his mouth and cheeks that bore the same colors as his coat. His hair and his clothing were a curious amalgam. I came towards him just as he was stepping down off the main porch. When he caught me in his gaze, he did seem at all surprised at all. Was I perhaps not the first visitor here? He simply looked at my outfit, pulled down his mask, and said something. At least I could tell that he said something because I saw his lips move. As soon as he was finished, a little blue piece of matter appeared in front of my forehead, and fell to the ground. I picked it up. It was cold, circular, but not very hard. Some sound seemed to be coming from it, so I warmed it in my hands and put it next to my ear. “Aren’t you cold?” a gruff voice asked. I imagined that this was the man’s voice, and that this was the question he wanted to ask me. I said something back to him, but I could not hear any of the words that were coming out of my mouth. Instead, they froze in front of the other man’s face, and the process repeated itself. The conversation went like this:
“Aren’t you cold?”
“No, for some strange reason I’m not.”
“I’m off to kill an elk, would you like to join me?”
“No thank you. I regret that I am ill dressed for hunting.”
“I would say you are ill dressed for most anything around here.”
“Best of luck to you.”
The red, hairy ogre walked off with a gigantic rifle in his hand and large bag over his shoulder. I dared not follow him. However, he did leave the door to his house open, so I decided to take a look inside. Furs covered the floor, and a fire was going in the hearth. A kind of sickly warmth washed over me when I opened the door further. I turned back again to the outside and a bizarre sight awaited me. Everything was melting all at once, and the disgusting warmth was increasing the longer I stood there. I ran down the steps of the house, out of the village, and into the open field where I had first felt so cold before. I had hoped to give me once again that feeling that I desired again, but it was too much. I shivered, and fell to the ground in a moaning, quivering mass.
When I woke up, I discovered that I had a fever. Despite the fact that it was already 87˚, I felt the same shivers creep over me as I had in the dream. It was terrifying, but I am glad I was able to visit that cold place.
I daydream about it constantly now.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Mosquito Larvae Eating Guppy Fish
The picture is a little blurry, but what you see at the bottom of this water bottle is my new pet. It is a guppy that I have placed in my water tank. The purpose of a having a guppy live in the tank is that it eats the mosquito larvae that grow there. Mosquitoes need a blood meal and a pool of standing water in order to reproduce. Once the eggs and larvae grow, hundreds can be born from a single brood. Having a guppy eat the larvae thus effectively eliminates a significant amount of mosquitoes from ever maturing and biting target numero uno: me.
Concerns:
1. Wait, this fish lives in the water which you use to bathe and clean yourself? How disgusting!
How little you know of fish! Guppies are actually very hygienic. Their waste falls to the bottom of the tank, so there is no way one would ever come into contact with it. Many families in Cambodia are even encouraged to have guppies in the containers used for drinking water because it keeps mosquitoes from breeding in them. A popular ad campaign goes, "Would you rather have fish live in your drinking water, or be drinking mosquito larvae?"
2. Won't this fish need something else to eat?
Not really. I've talked to a lot of people about this. Some feed their fish a few times a week if they have a lot, but others do not. I have fish food, but I have not tried it out yet. Last Saturday night, I took a look inside my tank one night with a flashlight and found it swimming with larvae. I think there is enough food for the fish for now.
3. Surely this fish must have a name?
It does! After explaining the heath benefits and and practicalities of having the guppy to my students, thus doing a good public service, I had them tell me what the name of the fish should be. All of them thought me extremely odd for wanting to give a name to a fish, but we finally settled on one: Krissana. It sort of sounds like Krishna, a hindu god. Given the impact of Hinduism in Southeast Asia, I would not be surprised to see if there was some relation.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Bomb Crater
This is a crater left by an American B-52 bombing run in Ratanakiri Province, Cambodia sometime during the Vietnam War. Today, it is surrounded by farmland and cows. The area around the crater has some fairly young trees, so it could have been the site of an old army base. That's my theory at least.
Free Man in Bangkok
Last Monday, I emerged from the confining space of my hospital room ready to greet the city of Bangkok. After checking out and confirming my appointments with the doctors, I walked across the street from the hospital to the Sara Inn. After checking in, I ventured out in search of the Peace Corps Thailand office. I walked outside into the pouring rain, and made my way through a narrow side street to a broad avenue that ran parallel to the Sky Train, the Bangkok mass transit system. I passed through crowds of Thais and foreigners from what seemed like every corner of the world. A man in a turban invited me to eat at his restaurant, dozens of middle-eastern looking me called out to have a suit made at their shop, and clothing stalls hawked their products. A number of restaurants advertised halal menus, and I passed by a 7-11, McDonald’s, Burger King, Starbucks, and KFC in the space of a few blocks. When I got to the station, it felt a little strange getting on a mass-transportation system again. After living for Cambodia for so long, I forgot that things like that exist at all. The ticket system, the station layout, and the train cars were all very familiar, but I was a little disappointed to learn that one cannot take the sky-train everywhere in the city.
One thing that I immediately noticed was how well dressed everyone was. No one was wearing sandals, and even the students were required to wear a kind of black buckled shoe. I also noticed how dirty and disgusting my clothes looked compared with them. I hoped that no one would notice my dirty, hand-washed clothes, but I resolved to find a laundry service as soon as I could find one.
From the Nana station, I traveled to Victory Monument for about forty baht. From there, I took a taxi to the Peace Corps Thailand office near the river. A policeman stopped us during the drive. “Police in Thailand, no good!” he said to me after he paid the man a bribe. The same thing happened to me a few times in Morocco.
We pulled up to the office, and I explained to the guards at the gate that I was a volunteer from Cambodia. Neither one of us spoke a common language, but he seemed impressed enough by my ID card that he let me through the gate. After checking in with the medical staff and the PCMO, I was introduced to some of the volunteers in their lounge area. I regaled them with stories of drunken counterparts, dengue fever, problems with Cambodian schools, insane host families, and hand-to-hand combat with rats. Their collective response was, “Wow, man, you’re really in the Peace Corps!” I hung out with them that night and during the next couple of days, and I had the distinct feeling that Peace Corps Thailand is much different program than ours.
First of all, Thailand has had volunteers for the almost last fifty years (By comparison, the current volunteers serving in Thailand are group 121 whereas ours in group 2). The country never suffered a brutal civil war, and it is largely developed country. I heard accounts of volunteers living in houses with cable TV, air conditioners, and washing machines (ridiculous!). In all fairness, they do have their own shares of language trouble and cultural difficulties. It never seemed like it was on the same scale though. Regardless of this, we were still able to swap stories about our shared experiences in the East. I am slowly starting to discover that the Peace Corps is such a unique experience to have that it creates a kind of bond between former or current volunteers. It does not matter what your assignment is, because just trying to survive out here can be a powerful experience to share.
Between Monday afternoon and Wednesday morning, I had almost two days of freedom to do whatever I wanted in the city of Bangkok. I walked around the expansive and air conditioned shopping malls and watched the new Star Trek movie in an actual movie theater, ate at Mexican restaurants and hamburger joints, took a water taxi down to the old part of town to see the giant golden Buddha, and bought some new clothes at a department store. The latter was of particular interest because pants that fit are an extremely rare find when buying clothes in this part of the world. It was a treat just to walk around a modern city at all.
I have no complaints about my stay in Bangkok, except that I wish that the Peace Corps had put me in a different hotel. While the hospital and hotel are all good and well, the fact is that the surrounding neighborhood is one of Bangkok’s center for sex tourism. Trying to get back to my hotel at night involved walking through crowds of streetwalkers, one look at whom would make you want to vomit. One volunteer even told me, “If you want the real Bangkok experience, take a girl home tonight and find out she’s a man.” I did not ask him how he came by such information. Like all modern cities, this one certainly has its dark underbelly.
Thursday morning, they had me on a plane out of Thailand at 7:40 in the morning. I suppose they don’t waste any time getting us back to our countries once our treatment has finished. By Monday morning, I was back at site teaching classes. I told everyone how wondrous Thailand was, but they did not seem impressed. It could be because of the vitriolic hatred that mostly everyone has towards the Thais, or that Cambodians are simply supreme masters of indifference towards all things non-Cambodian.
Knowing the people here, I would opt for the latter.
One thing that I immediately noticed was how well dressed everyone was. No one was wearing sandals, and even the students were required to wear a kind of black buckled shoe. I also noticed how dirty and disgusting my clothes looked compared with them. I hoped that no one would notice my dirty, hand-washed clothes, but I resolved to find a laundry service as soon as I could find one.
From the Nana station, I traveled to Victory Monument for about forty baht. From there, I took a taxi to the Peace Corps Thailand office near the river. A policeman stopped us during the drive. “Police in Thailand, no good!” he said to me after he paid the man a bribe. The same thing happened to me a few times in Morocco.
We pulled up to the office, and I explained to the guards at the gate that I was a volunteer from Cambodia. Neither one of us spoke a common language, but he seemed impressed enough by my ID card that he let me through the gate. After checking in with the medical staff and the PCMO, I was introduced to some of the volunteers in their lounge area. I regaled them with stories of drunken counterparts, dengue fever, problems with Cambodian schools, insane host families, and hand-to-hand combat with rats. Their collective response was, “Wow, man, you’re really in the Peace Corps!” I hung out with them that night and during the next couple of days, and I had the distinct feeling that Peace Corps Thailand is much different program than ours.
First of all, Thailand has had volunteers for the almost last fifty years (By comparison, the current volunteers serving in Thailand are group 121 whereas ours in group 2). The country never suffered a brutal civil war, and it is largely developed country. I heard accounts of volunteers living in houses with cable TV, air conditioners, and washing machines (ridiculous!). In all fairness, they do have their own shares of language trouble and cultural difficulties. It never seemed like it was on the same scale though. Regardless of this, we were still able to swap stories about our shared experiences in the East. I am slowly starting to discover that the Peace Corps is such a unique experience to have that it creates a kind of bond between former or current volunteers. It does not matter what your assignment is, because just trying to survive out here can be a powerful experience to share.
Between Monday afternoon and Wednesday morning, I had almost two days of freedom to do whatever I wanted in the city of Bangkok. I walked around the expansive and air conditioned shopping malls and watched the new Star Trek movie in an actual movie theater, ate at Mexican restaurants and hamburger joints, took a water taxi down to the old part of town to see the giant golden Buddha, and bought some new clothes at a department store. The latter was of particular interest because pants that fit are an extremely rare find when buying clothes in this part of the world. It was a treat just to walk around a modern city at all.
I have no complaints about my stay in Bangkok, except that I wish that the Peace Corps had put me in a different hotel. While the hospital and hotel are all good and well, the fact is that the surrounding neighborhood is one of Bangkok’s center for sex tourism. Trying to get back to my hotel at night involved walking through crowds of streetwalkers, one look at whom would make you want to vomit. One volunteer even told me, “If you want the real Bangkok experience, take a girl home tonight and find out she’s a man.” I did not ask him how he came by such information. Like all modern cities, this one certainly has its dark underbelly.
Thursday morning, they had me on a plane out of Thailand at 7:40 in the morning. I suppose they don’t waste any time getting us back to our countries once our treatment has finished. By Monday morning, I was back at site teaching classes. I told everyone how wondrous Thailand was, but they did not seem impressed. It could be because of the vitriolic hatred that mostly everyone has towards the Thais, or that Cambodians are simply supreme masters of indifference towards all things non-Cambodian.
Knowing the people here, I would opt for the latter.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
I'm Still Alive!
Hey everyone,
I have returned from Bangkok in excellent health. I had some time off while I was there, which I'll try and write about next week when I have some time to do that. But I'm a lot better, and still alive.
-A
I have returned from Bangkok in excellent health. I had some time off while I was there, which I'll try and write about next week when I have some time to do that. But I'm a lot better, and still alive.
-A
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Waiting To Be Discharged
Hospital rooms have always been my least favorite of places. Something about the stench of sterilized food and air brings about certain feelings of nausea; something one would get in a kind of cold factory prison. I have not left this room for a day. Can you blame me for having just a touch of cabin fever? Every couple of hours, the nurses come in and take my blood pressure and temperature, bring me food and medicine to take, or instruct me on the various functions of the room. I am supposed to pee in a metal container, which they collect, instead of in the toilet, and I am supposed to report on how many times I’ve passed stool or how much water I’ve consumed. It was fun for a day. Now it is getting old. In a desperate plea for human contact, I started a conversation with one of them who had visited Siem Reap. But I have not seen her since.
When I left Phnom Penh on Friday, one of the volunteers said to me that she was jealous that I got to go. Oddly enough, it does sort of feel like a vacation. If I were at site right now, I would be sweating profusely and trying to focus on any little task to take my mind off of the heat. Instead, I have hot showers, a powerful air conditioning system, and three meals a day. The food is not half bad either. For lunch today, I ate salmon, mashed potatoes, green beans, and some corn. I have not seen a fish soup in the last couple of days. I’ll be happy to get better, but I will miss all this fancy stuff.
However, the view I can see out the window is absolutely fantastic! Remember that I live in a dirty country infested with cows and dust everywhere, and this is a modern city. I can see rooftop swimming pools, a canal with boats running through it, some of the tallest buildings I have seen in months, and bright lights. All I can think about is getting on the Bangkok subway, riding it for hours on end, and then finding the nearest McDonalds just to bask in the American empire of commercialization. I can almost taste those French fries.
Soon…soon…
When I left Phnom Penh on Friday, one of the volunteers said to me that she was jealous that I got to go. Oddly enough, it does sort of feel like a vacation. If I were at site right now, I would be sweating profusely and trying to focus on any little task to take my mind off of the heat. Instead, I have hot showers, a powerful air conditioning system, and three meals a day. The food is not half bad either. For lunch today, I ate salmon, mashed potatoes, green beans, and some corn. I have not seen a fish soup in the last couple of days. I’ll be happy to get better, but I will miss all this fancy stuff.
However, the view I can see out the window is absolutely fantastic! Remember that I live in a dirty country infested with cows and dust everywhere, and this is a modern city. I can see rooftop swimming pools, a canal with boats running through it, some of the tallest buildings I have seen in months, and bright lights. All I can think about is getting on the Bangkok subway, riding it for hours on end, and then finding the nearest McDonalds just to bask in the American empire of commercialization. I can almost taste those French fries.
Soon…soon…
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