I just spent the most relaxing, refreshing week in Kampong Thom (see previous post). In contrast, I'm now back in Phnom Penh in an American bar that is run by Cambodians and currently filled with British people. You can't make this stuff up. Consequently, I'm in a bar because they have free wireless... the sacrifices we have to make. Anyway, so much happened last week that I'd like to share, but I'll have to break it up into different posts for my sake and for yours. Right now, let me tell you about why I went and how I got there...
It all started two weeks ago when I met up with an old student, Thydeth (tee-det), from Kampong Thom. Thydeth is studying architecture here in Phnom Penh, and knows some mutual friends. It was great running into him. I said, "Thydeth, I wanna go visit K.T. again soon." When he invited me to go with him during the P'chum Ben holiday (puh-choom-bun), I couldn't resist. At any rate, what was I gonna do besides stay here in the city and spend money on food and gas??? Like I said before, if you have a burning passion to understand the intricacies of P'chum Ben, google it. Here's a synopsis for the lazy folks:
Khmer (Cambodian) Buddhists believe in a heaven and hell - despite Buddha's teachings to the contrary - where spirits of the dead go when....well....it gets really complicated. For the sake of brevity I'll say this: Dead relatives can end up in hell where they are subsequently starved. Once a year (during the time of P'chum Ben) they are let out of hell by the Keeper. These spirits will seek out their living relatives in search of food, and if they don't find any food they will curse their families. To solve this quandery, the Khmer make decorative sticky rice balls and take them to Wats (Buddhist temples) where the monks bless the rice, naming it for the family. The family will throw the rice into big pits dug in the yard of the Wat. Spirits, called by the monks, will then "eat" the rice and return to hell will full bellies. Families must do this in the morning before daylight, because spirits, as everyone knows, can't come out in the daytime. For 15 days this takes place, culminating in the 30th-ish of September. I say, "30th-ish" because the Buddhist calendar follows the moon and not our Gregorian system. This culmination is a huge, two-day holiday here. An easy way to think of it is our Halloween meets Mexico's Day of the Dead. I've really discovered that, much like Mardi Gras back home, it's just an excuse to get off work and school. I'm not complaining! (Even though i think it's a dumb concept. Ironically, Buddha would too.)
So, during P'chum Ben thousands of students migrate to their home towns and villages to either feed grandma and grandpa's spirit, or just to chill and enjoy a week off. Speaking of dead spirits, the roads become highways of death themselves as traffic nearly doubles with motos, taxis, and overloaded busses tearing up provinical roads and national highways. Thydeth wanted us to take my moto for the 200 km journey, and I nearly agreed (the Indiana Jones in me coming out), but thankfully at the last minute I said, "You know, let's not." I'll have to admit that the idea of a cross-country moto trip is just the sort of thing I'd normally jump at, but I think Providence stayed my hand. Ok, I know Providence stayed my hand. Turns out Mrs. Sue, the lady I used to work under in Kampong Thom, was in Phnom Penh and was going home on the same day as Thydeth and I. She offered us her taxi, and we glady accepted (especially since she was paying). On the way there, it rained like I've never seen it rain before. Thank the Lord for deciding against the cross-country moto thing. I'm talking tropical storm proportions of rain and wind. What should have been a 2 hour taxi ride turned into a 4 and-a-half hour ride.
On the way there I noticed for the first time how much of this country is under water most of the time. I've never been here after the full brunt of the rainy season. I've only experienced its initial onslaught. To give you a picture of what I saw let me describe the road to K.T. National Road 5 leaves Phnom Penh and virtually bisects the country vertically, eventually ending up in the Northern city of Siem Riep where the famous Angkor temples are located. National Road 6 is a two lane highway built up from the terrain a good 6-8 feet, with about 5 feet of shoulder on either side. Traveling this road in years past I've always wondered why it's built up so high.
This time around I saw why. The Tonle Sap River and Tonle Sap Lake lie to the west of National Road 6. During the height of the rainy season the Lake breaks it's borders and floods downriver for thousands of square kilometers into rice country. The road is built up because it acts as a sort of dam, holding the Tonle Sap at bay. Periodical flood gates along the road allow controlled irrigation on its eastern side. It was amazing to see that much water after only a couple months of rain. Interestingly enough, the Mekong River will reach a capacity at which it causes the Tonle Sap to reverse flow, increasing the floodplain even more. Families in this region who, during the dry season, live on solid ground and farm become boat-living fisher families during the wet season. Traveling Road 6 I was so amazed by this because the Tonle Sap is not some river just around the corner; it's a hundred kilometers away, and here we were traveling on a raised road that holds it at bay from flooding the rest of the country.
At any rate, we pushed through the rain and winds, passing hundreds of motos stopped on the side of the road, their poor drivers waiting out the pelting rains under flimsy ponchos. I must admit, Indiana Jones tendencies or not, I was thrilled we had taken a taxi, and I told Thydeth he was lucky we didn't or I would have never spoken to him again. (Ok, not really.)
Arriving at Sue's house was the best feeling ever. Students, many I remembered from years past, were there playing cards in the downstairs student center. Some things, I thought, really don't change. It was probably one of the only times in my life I've felt like I stepped back in time. Things in the room where exactly as they were three years ago. Even books and games and knick-knacks on shelves were just as they were the last time I was there. It felt like Christmas. Seeing such consistency made me realize how much and how often things back home change, and I realized how precious stability is, at least to me.
In America, I fear we've grown to a point where we can't live without constant change and what we would consider "progress." In a certain light it's almost a disease. We trample underfoot the things that are precious and worthwhile in order to advance, to make an extra buck, to have an bigger house, or a larger pension. I tried to think of one place back home that was special to me from my childhood that remains as unaltered and unchanged as I found Kampong Thom six nights ago. There aren't any. Yet here, the same students gather and laugh as usual. The night I arrived they played and talked of the same sorts of things they always have without boredom, and they played card games and watched the rain like no time had passed since I saw them last. Refreshing doesn't even approach an accurate description. It was reassuring and comforting. I said to myself, Ok...this is still here. And then I took a deep breath.
Sorry for going all introspective on you. It was a great night, playing games and talking and catching up and letting the students praise my improved Khmer while laughing at the mistakes I still make. That was just the beginning of an incredible week. More next time...
Bryant
It all started two weeks ago when I met up with an old student, Thydeth (tee-det), from Kampong Thom. Thydeth is studying architecture here in Phnom Penh, and knows some mutual friends. It was great running into him. I said, "Thydeth, I wanna go visit K.T. again soon." When he invited me to go with him during the P'chum Ben holiday (puh-choom-bun), I couldn't resist. At any rate, what was I gonna do besides stay here in the city and spend money on food and gas??? Like I said before, if you have a burning passion to understand the intricacies of P'chum Ben, google it. Here's a synopsis for the lazy folks:
Khmer (Cambodian) Buddhists believe in a heaven and hell - despite Buddha's teachings to the contrary - where spirits of the dead go when....well....it gets really complicated. For the sake of brevity I'll say this: Dead relatives can end up in hell where they are subsequently starved. Once a year (during the time of P'chum Ben) they are let out of hell by the Keeper. These spirits will seek out their living relatives in search of food, and if they don't find any food they will curse their families. To solve this quandery, the Khmer make decorative sticky rice balls and take them to Wats (Buddhist temples) where the monks bless the rice, naming it for the family. The family will throw the rice into big pits dug in the yard of the Wat. Spirits, called by the monks, will then "eat" the rice and return to hell will full bellies. Families must do this in the morning before daylight, because spirits, as everyone knows, can't come out in the daytime. For 15 days this takes place, culminating in the 30th-ish of September. I say, "30th-ish" because the Buddhist calendar follows the moon and not our Gregorian system. This culmination is a huge, two-day holiday here. An easy way to think of it is our Halloween meets Mexico's Day of the Dead. I've really discovered that, much like Mardi Gras back home, it's just an excuse to get off work and school. I'm not complaining! (Even though i think it's a dumb concept. Ironically, Buddha would too.)
So, during P'chum Ben thousands of students migrate to their home towns and villages to either feed grandma and grandpa's spirit, or just to chill and enjoy a week off. Speaking of dead spirits, the roads become highways of death themselves as traffic nearly doubles with motos, taxis, and overloaded busses tearing up provinical roads and national highways. Thydeth wanted us to take my moto for the 200 km journey, and I nearly agreed (the Indiana Jones in me coming out), but thankfully at the last minute I said, "You know, let's not." I'll have to admit that the idea of a cross-country moto trip is just the sort of thing I'd normally jump at, but I think Providence stayed my hand. Ok, I know Providence stayed my hand. Turns out Mrs. Sue, the lady I used to work under in Kampong Thom, was in Phnom Penh and was going home on the same day as Thydeth and I. She offered us her taxi, and we glady accepted (especially since she was paying). On the way there, it rained like I've never seen it rain before. Thank the Lord for deciding against the cross-country moto thing. I'm talking tropical storm proportions of rain and wind. What should have been a 2 hour taxi ride turned into a 4 and-a-half hour ride.
On the way there I noticed for the first time how much of this country is under water most of the time. I've never been here after the full brunt of the rainy season. I've only experienced its initial onslaught. To give you a picture of what I saw let me describe the road to K.T. National Road 5 leaves Phnom Penh and virtually bisects the country vertically, eventually ending up in the Northern city of Siem Riep where the famous Angkor temples are located. National Road 6 is a two lane highway built up from the terrain a good 6-8 feet, with about 5 feet of shoulder on either side. Traveling this road in years past I've always wondered why it's built up so high.
This time around I saw why. The Tonle Sap River and Tonle Sap Lake lie to the west of National Road 6. During the height of the rainy season the Lake breaks it's borders and floods downriver for thousands of square kilometers into rice country. The road is built up because it acts as a sort of dam, holding the Tonle Sap at bay. Periodical flood gates along the road allow controlled irrigation on its eastern side. It was amazing to see that much water after only a couple months of rain. Interestingly enough, the Mekong River will reach a capacity at which it causes the Tonle Sap to reverse flow, increasing the floodplain even more. Families in this region who, during the dry season, live on solid ground and farm become boat-living fisher families during the wet season. Traveling Road 6 I was so amazed by this because the Tonle Sap is not some river just around the corner; it's a hundred kilometers away, and here we were traveling on a raised road that holds it at bay from flooding the rest of the country.
At any rate, we pushed through the rain and winds, passing hundreds of motos stopped on the side of the road, their poor drivers waiting out the pelting rains under flimsy ponchos. I must admit, Indiana Jones tendencies or not, I was thrilled we had taken a taxi, and I told Thydeth he was lucky we didn't or I would have never spoken to him again. (Ok, not really.)
Arriving at Sue's house was the best feeling ever. Students, many I remembered from years past, were there playing cards in the downstairs student center. Some things, I thought, really don't change. It was probably one of the only times in my life I've felt like I stepped back in time. Things in the room where exactly as they were three years ago. Even books and games and knick-knacks on shelves were just as they were the last time I was there. It felt like Christmas. Seeing such consistency made me realize how much and how often things back home change, and I realized how precious stability is, at least to me.
In America, I fear we've grown to a point where we can't live without constant change and what we would consider "progress." In a certain light it's almost a disease. We trample underfoot the things that are precious and worthwhile in order to advance, to make an extra buck, to have an bigger house, or a larger pension. I tried to think of one place back home that was special to me from my childhood that remains as unaltered and unchanged as I found Kampong Thom six nights ago. There aren't any. Yet here, the same students gather and laugh as usual. The night I arrived they played and talked of the same sorts of things they always have without boredom, and they played card games and watched the rain like no time had passed since I saw them last. Refreshing doesn't even approach an accurate description. It was reassuring and comforting. I said to myself, Ok...this is still here. And then I took a deep breath.
Sorry for going all introspective on you. It was a great night, playing games and talking and catching up and letting the students praise my improved Khmer while laughing at the mistakes I still make. That was just the beginning of an incredible week. More next time...
Bryant
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