'C' for Cambodia

March 20, 2011

I travel with a first aid kit the size of a 10-pin bowling ball for a reason. It's got articles for all emergencies: IV tubing and butterfly needles, enough gauze for an arterial bleed, sterile eye rinse solution, and pain killers that could make a camel comatose. None of this kit is packed with ME In mind; let's not forget who my travel partner is. I pulled out this monstrous kit after hearing the usual cue: "Oh SHIT. Saaarraaah!" Now let's Tarantino it back a little: Sunday afternoon, not a cloud in the sky, and we have been invited to the home of Ung and his wife Mooni. They are family to the Oh My Buddha restaurant crew and their place is nestled "in the province", outside Phnom Penh. Somehow I ended up riding on the back of Hanna's bike, an American also living and teaching in Phnom Penh. Just like the rest of Americans, she is terrifying to drive with. Sander was safely on the back on Ben's bike with an armload of ice cubes, and Ben had a case of beer between his feet. 'At least the damn beer is safe', Was all I could think as Hanna and I tailgated a massive truck full of chickens. As it was, we made it to the country house in one piece, the bag of lettuce I had been 'casually' carrying, was crushed between my bloodless fingers.
We received a warm welcome from Ung, Mooni, and their two young daughters. We took a tour of their enormous house, picked some fresh mangos off a nearby tree, and I introduced Ung to the joy that is soaking your travel-swollen feet in ice water. 'How do you not do this every day?' I thought, as my feet briefly returned to their norm size. Liz read bizarre and grammatically incorrect Khmer children's books (written in English) to the girls, as we swung in hammocks on the patio overlooking the Mekong river. Something about that river was calling to the boys - they couldn't resist a swim. With the blinding whiteness of Ben's shoulders guiding the way to water deep enough to tread in, Sander and Ung hopped in too. I only had time to change into my bathing suit and was still towel-clad when I heard: "Oh SHIT. Saaarraaah!" Now here we are back at the beginning and, paying homage to Tarantino, here comes the gore. Sander had sliced the top of his big toe practically off on a lurking underwater rock ledge, leaving epic little pools of blood all the way up the ladder steps as he crawled up from the river bank. I rolled my eyes, and grabbed the kit. Using the one-for-you, one-for-the-wound technique that works well for Sander, we had him bandaged up in no time. No stitches, this time, mostly because he wouldn't allow it after I joked that I would cross-stitch a pretty pattern up his leg.

In days to come, Sander was put in charge of uploading photos from a cafe, keeping his throbbing foot elevated while I went to checkout a Cambodian Art, Dance, and Circus School. Somewhere between the juggling bearded man and a pint-sized dancer/contortionist, I felt more at home here than ever. The school is government built and funded, and therefore bereft of teaching tools, and equipment. But for what it lacks in supplies and space, it's students make up with enthusiasm and commitment. Most of the teachers cannot afford to support their own families with the pitfall pay that the government provides, but are there because they believe so strongly in the need to share and maintain traditional Khmer art culture. Mooni, the wife of Ung and a proud and talented teacher of Apsara dance, explained that the majority of their students come from extremely poor families. They are able to learn and practice their art of choice in the morning, and study reading and writing the Khmer language in the afternoons. The teachers do their own quiet fund raising for their programs, finding sponsors who can provide the money to buy thing like mirrors for the dancers to train with (they still do not have enough for this), or floor mats for the acrobats to fall safely on (right now, the concrete floor us covered by a thin carpet). My contribution will be designing, printing, and donating practice shirts for the monkey troupe': a large group of young boys training for the esteemed position of "chief monkey god, Hannuman" within traditional Khmer dance. Though it is my understanding that men of all ages enjoy behaving like apes, these 6-11 year old boys were particularly thrilled and enthusiastic to to rehearse a number, just for me.

Back on Street 172, home away from home, Sander was right where I'd left him: nursing the aching slice in his toe that is sure to heal into a great scar ... an arching 'C' for Cambodia.

Slaughter.