Caitlin's Awesome Adventures

Monnnnnnnnsssssssooooooooooooooooooooonn!

The rain pounding my tin roof is deafening and drowns out all the other city-center sounds I am usually surrounded by. It’s actually a welcome relief, though makes listening to music or talking on the phone nearly impossible.

My cheaply built illegal apartment is full of cracks and gaps that let water in. Not in gushing streams – mostly a fine mist that drifts over everything, including me, or seeps through the ill-fitting window frames to run down the walls and pool on the floor. My open-air kitchen becomes a giant puddle.

I love my little loft though. It’s unfinished and eclectic and a totally creative space, perched illegally on top of a narrow Chinese-style apartment. High enough to catch a lovely evening breeze and unobstructed views of where the Mekong and Tonle rivers meet, of the tip top of the palace temples, and of Psaar Kaandal, the nearest market. That’s all on the South and West sides… If had views from the other side of my building, to the north and East, I would have the glowing neon of one of the prominent girlie bar streets. Venues with enticing names such as 69 Bar, Candy Bar, Dream Bar, and 24 hours convenience stores such as Eezy E’s and Romantic Mart.

The heavy monsoon rains give me the same nesting feeling that winter rainstorms do in Canada. I had planned to watch a movie at Metahouse, the independent art space with an open air, roof top cinema. Though it’s covered, the rain will likely mist in as it does in my place. Moreover, even if there is a covered tuk tuk with a driver willing to brave the rain, getting in and out from my apartment to the tuk tuk to the venue promises to be a soaking wet affair. Curling up with a book, painting, or munching on fried seaweed and writing, as I am now, become much more appealing.

I’m not the only one waiting out the rain. Looking down at the market, I see vendors and shoppers alike huddle under large umbrellas and street stalls, motodops in their ponchos crowded under awnings. Only some street children are undaunted, dancing half naked and drenched under drainpipes.

I’ve been back for two days. So far, I’m loving being back in my lil’ loft and am enjoying the rain. Both bring comfort.

Time, whoa. I don’t even know have I’ve been here for 8 months without posting anything. I guess… work got super duper intense and was all I could think about, yet couldn’t write about. Still don’t feel safe enough to, really… articulate the crazing that went down. Then I transitioned out of my job, then I traveled, then I transitioned some more, then I lived on the coast for awhile, then I moved by to the city, then I started working like a mad-woman on interesting contracts that took me to Vietnam, Thailand and Malaysia, then work kicked off again in Cambodia, then I went to Europe and the AIDS 2010 conference, then I went to Canada and now I’m back. HEHE. The vague and uber-condensed version of Caitlin’s 28th, Year of Transition. I’m back now – and writing… Stay tuned…

It’s been almost a month since my last post… What happened? Life. Life happened in a big way. Establishing new routines, language classes, new friendships, work. Ah yes, work. So much I want to say, to write about.

When I stand on our rooftop, I am filled with an enormous sense of peace and calm. A feeling that is so welcomed now. At night, there aren’t many lights in our district. Electricity is expensive, so many houses are dark at night. There arn’t many street lights, and the school yards beside and across the street from us are dark. I can see Orion, which also gives me reassurance. It is the same sky that my loved ones look at, we see the same stars even on the other side of the world. When things are so incomprehensibly complicated, the stars steady me.

We met at Korsang at 6:30 am to take a tuk tuk to “Russian hospital” (the commonly used name for the Khmer Soviet Friendship Hospital). It is here that the new methadone clinic will be located, on the first floor of the Mental Health building. There are 7 of us from Korsang who will be traveling to Sihanoukville for a capacity building training for the staff involved with the new clinic. Myself, Korsang’s doctor, two case workers and three outreach workers. We sit to have breakfast in the outdoor restaurant at the hospital while we wait for the others to arrive. When service lists the food available, I am excited when I recognized words and can order for myself in Khmer. I sit and sip my baw baw dtrayee (rice porridge with fish) and iced coffee and listen to the chit chat around me. I am the only barang around, and the conversation is in Khmer. I can’t understand much, but I’m beginning to be able to pick out words. I am suddenly filled with that sudden feeling of profound realization. This is my new life: new food, new co-workers, new language.

This feeling stays with me on the bus trip to the coast.  It’s only slightly after 7am, and the city is bustling. The bus slow moving in the morning traffic. We pass makeshift markets set-up street side, where vegetables, fruit, herbs, eggs and meat are sold off of wooden tables or blankets on the ground.  Push carts serve up noodles, soups and strong sweet iced coffee. School children, teens and college students in mandatory white and blue uniforms ride their bikes or are driven on motos to school yards where the teachers wait at the front gate to welcome them. Outside of the city center, there are no white expats and no tourists. Just daily Kampuchea life happening. As I sleepily take in this new world I inhabit, curious eyes meet mine. The “Khmer stare” (as we call it) is not meant to be rude, invasive or aggressive. It simply is… a stare. While at first I found it unnerving, I know appreciate it for what it is, and stare back.  People are quick to reciprocate a smile.

We drive South and then West. This is my first time in this part of the country. The city gives way to flat agricultural land covered in rice patties, irrigation channels and rows of palms. Houses perch on stilts in a traditional construction that takes factors in the monsoon season and inevitable flooding. Since the rainy season is only just ended, the vegetation is incredibly lush and green, juxtaposed with the vibrant red earth carved out into roads and paths cutting through the fields. Water lilies and lotus blossom in bright pinks. The flat land gradually gives way to hilly jungle as we near the coast. I breathe in the beauty, my eyes appreciating the sights of this new land and my ears full of Khmeraoke songs playing on the bus’s TV.

We stop for snacks: green mango with salty-spicy-sweet granulated dip, sticky rice wrapped around bananas and/or cononut and roasted in banana leaves, and Pringles. I try to chat with some of the clinical staff, who say my Khmer is very ch’bah (clear) even though I speak yeut yeut (slowly). With my limited understanding, I gather that if I keep on learning, I will ni-yaye pia saa khmai jrarn (speak a lot of Khmer language) in a few months. I hope so. Right now I’m using a lot of “neeh ya gay?” (this is what?) and ta maik? (what? Repeat?) and parroting back the unfamiliar sounds over and over. M’dawng dtik, m’dawng dtik, little by little, I’m piecing it all together.

As some of you know, I have been professing my love of all things coconut to anyone who will listen or is within earshot (or reading my FB status updates). Today at work, during one such episode, one of my new colleagues said – “well then, have you tried the new coconut shakes? If you looooove coconut, you’ll love these.”

“COCONUT SHAKES?!?!” I practically scream… “where? How do I get one?”

“This guy, he makes ‘em, sells ‘em on a cart, passes right by here,” he replies, laughing at my exuberance.

And then, as if by some divine summoning, the man with the coconut shake cart rolls by.
“You want one?” he asks.
“No, thanks, but really I shouldn’t… coconut’s going to be the death of me here.” I quietly (and weakly) protest.
“Aw c’mon, you haven’t even tried this yet. You gotta try one…” Before I know it, someone else has whipped out into the alley and returned with an icy plastic cup of heaven.

I slurp in. The proportions are perfect… just the right amount of ice, it’s creamy with condensed milk and coconut cream… it’s not too sweet and there are shavings of young coconut meat. It is, quite possibly, the most delicious drink in Cambodia.

“This is so amazing!! So good!! This really is going to be the death of me!!” I’m practically shouting again. “And it’s only 500 riels!! I can’t believe it! That’s like what, how many cents??”

“It’s 12.5 cents exactly.” Says a quiet voice behind me. Another colleague who had been listening in on my rapture.

“That’s so cheap, so good and so cheap. Only 12.5 cents… this is gonna be a problem, I could drink like 10 a day…” I shake my head in amazement.

“Yeah, I used to think like that,” he said. “When I first got deported from the States… 12.5 cents ain’t a lot for us, but here it goes a long way. Now living here for awhile, I started realizin’ 500 riels is a lot to most people, now it’s a lot for me too. 500 riels is too much to for drink, ya know, when it could be a meal. It’s like gotta be a really special occasion or something to spend that much on a drink.”

Dear coconut shake. You are so delicious and the instigator of a gentle lesson learned. You really are a gift from the angels. With gratitude, Caitlin.

I just came across this story in one of Korsang’s grant requests. (Korsang is the organization I moved to Cambodia to work for.) It really captures the heart and spirit of Korang.

As many know, one of Korsang’s long time peer educators, Sok Mop, was HIV+ and needed a kidney transplant. I am sorry to say he passed away (Dec. 15th 2008), he was 25 years old.

Sok Mop worked at Korsang for 3 years, from the age of 22, before he became too sick to work, although he remained on payroll….. Last year he went into kidney failure and Korsang raised funding, through very good friends, for 9 months to keep him on dialysis and keep him alive. Our doctor, Vannda, our medical team and Dr. Graham Macdonald, a consulting kidney expert in Australia worked tirelessly to treat the constant complications that arose.

Sok Mop was an excellent peer educator, often disclosing his HIV status in order to teach others, something almost unheard of in Cambodia. Even after he was too sick to work, he continued to live at Korsang and to be a huge part of our team. Sok Mop stopped using drugs shortly after he began work at Korsang and AusAID/HAARP was to feature him as a success story in an upcoming article on their website.

He was very special to Korsang staff and a favorite of many. In November 2008 Korsang staff went to an island off the Cambodian coast for staff retreat and insisted Sok Mop come along. The night before we left, staff sat with him in a hospital room through his dialysis, past 1am so he wouldn’t get sick on the trip, as it was a deserted and remote island. Against some better judgment, we brought Sok Mop with us. It was his first time on an island and he enjoyed it right beside all of us. The boat ride home was very rough due to terrifying weather conditions (we all thought death was imminent for the entire staff) Sok Mop took the 3 hour traumatic venture like the brave warrior he was. My favorite Sok Mop story, was one day last October, a drug user stole our heating pot and ran out of the compound. Sok Mop, as sick and weak as he was, jumped on a bike chasing him through the streets of Phnom Penh. He never caught him, but it was the thought that counted!
Sok Mop finally lost his battle with HIV. For his cremation service staff took up a collection for a traditional Buddhist ceremony with fruit, incense, flowers and Monk’s chanting. Staff also went out into the province to find his elderly mother so she could attend. Somehow they managed to locate her in village hut in Kandal. She was able to say goodbye to her son and then spent the night at Kamp Korsang before getting his ashes and returning to her village this morning. Sok Mop’s last paycheck for December went to his mom, more money than she has probably ever seen.

Sok Mop had two wishes regarding his death,
1) We wouldn’t let him suffer in pain, and
2) He could die at Korsang.

He got them both.

Sok Mop was one of the real hero’s of Harm Reduction

- Written by Holly Bradford

Despite being mildly annoyed at times with the near-constant shouts of “Hello Tuk tuk Lady!” (I am not a tuk tuk!) or “You Sir! Hello! Motobike!” (I am not a Sir!) that follow me around wherever I walk – I am still consistently amazed by the vehicles that are the mainstay of daily life here in Cambodia.
Anything and everything that can be transported on a moto will be. Our fridge was transported to the repair shop on a moto.  Laying horizontally in between the two 15 year old helper boys, one driving and the other perched on the back, holding onto the fridge.  Chickens, furniture, appliances, entire families – anything and everything that can, goes on a moto.
If too big or too much for a moto, then a tuk tuk is the next option. Families groups too large for a moto, and upwards to about 20 people share a tuk tuk, large furniture can be strapped to the roof, livestock, you name it!
There are also the moto-“buses” which is kind of the closest thing to public buses. Only it’s not public, it’s private. But it’s communal, and stops along the road to pick people up. I guess that’s where the similarities end (see pic).
There is a helmet law that has been instituted, but I’d say only about 50% of drivers adhere to it. And it only applies to the driver. Not the baby perched on the handlebars, the toddler and child sandwiched between the parents, or the mom and/or grandma perched behind the 4 or 5 other family members.
Oh – that reminds me, this is another way I’m funny. I wear a helmet even when I’m not the one driving! Crazy AND funny, I know.

I didn’t know how funny I was until I moved to Phnom Penh. It seems that everything I do is humourous to all. I’m sure this will be a theme of many posts, but for now…

The perils of walking:
Barang lady walking down the street – funny. Most people don’t walk here… understandably, it’s pretty hot and dusty, and there aren’t really such conveniences/safety mechanisms such as sidewalks. So the sight of me, shuffling from shady overhang to the shady side of a building, meanwhile dodging motos and random holes in the road, piles of garbage and yappy dogs probably is a funny sight. I usually arrive wherever I am going dusty and flushed, also a funny sight I’m sure.
Basically, people only walk here if they are poor and/or crazy. Anyone who can afford a moto taxi (less than $1 a ride, usually much less if only going a short distance) or tuk tuk will take that option. And since I am quite obviously not a poor Cambodian, I must be crazy?
This morning is a case in point… on the way to the market I was first approached by an older, poor Khmer woman would who just may have been a little crazy. She had a few hundred riels (which amounts to pennies) in one hand and was asking for more. On her way past, she grabbed my tummy, hard, and then muttered away. As I turned to watch her retreat, rubbing my sore belly, I tripped into a random whole in the road and scraped my ankle. Ah, the perils of walking… maybe this is why it’s so funny that I try to do it?
So, if no one walks  – how do people stay fit? Stay tuned…

All the action:
The day starts at dawn. Those who aren’t immediately bustling off to the market or to work are exercising in the schoolyard next door. Before the sun even peeks over the horizon, ladies and gents are lining up to participate in some funky fusion of aerobics and line dancing, to the blaring “mash up” of Khmer classics, gay circuit boy techno and hip hop hits. This repeats at sun down, though the sunset activities are a little more gender segregated. The ladies continue the dancing, and the gents play volleyball in the yard across the street. Kids ride their bikes around the neighbourhood or play badminton in the side streets.

If you are rich, you have a membership at the Phnom Penh Sports Club, just down the road from us. Today, I splurged on the $60 membership, which gives me access to the work out room, outdoor pool, Jacuzzi, hot tubs and sauna. The standard car driven by the membership seems to be a Lexus SVU, as evidenced by the parking lot.

I had dressed modestly for the occasion. (I’m beginning to wonder why I bother, since I get stared at no matter what it seems.) I was the only barang in there. However, in my grey yoga sweats (not too tight) and my tank top with wide straps, I was VERY underdressed. The standard uniform of the PPSC ladies seems to be cute tennis-style skort outfits (white), BLACK work out pants with splashy t-shirts, or my fav, designer jeans! Skinny ones at that! So while I’m puffing away on the eliptical (sp?), red-faced and sweating through my sweats, the girl next to me is in designer jeans and these pink and white little half sneaker things. Amazing. I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Or maybe not… by the end of my 45 minute workout, I had emitted about, say, a pint of sweat (sounds about right… a pint of blood, a pint of beer, a pint of sweat?). And my red-face wouldn’t go away, so walking home, you guessed it… I was hilarious! Just wait until I drop in on the line dances… more good times to be had

On household chores:
Yes, I wash my dishes. When our landlord stopped by to check on something and saw me soaping the dishes in the sink, he stood there shaking his head and giggling away! Barang lady doing her own dishwashing – perplexing AND funny. Same goes for doing my own laundry. While on the roof hanging it do dry, the construction workers across the street look up and shake their heads, laughing. Apparently, these are not things that Barangs do here, and therefore, me doing them = funny.

Yesterday marked three weeks since we moved to Cambodia. We found the Pink Palace the day after our arrival (see 17 reasons… for more details). It really was a fixer upper, more so than we let on (or even knew at first). But we were looking at the potential, and the sheer funkiness of it, and couldn’t pass it up.
It was dirty with many repairs needed. There was no stove, a semi-working fridge that later broke, we needed of shelving, furniture, a washing machine, and on and on… All of the delivery/technical/repair/construction etc people seems to be boys under the age of 15. This might be a slight decrease in their actual age, but only slight cause they all seem really young. There were usually at least 2 of them per required repair/delivery. None spoke English, so we’d inevitably end up in 3-way conversations (4 way if you count all of the emphatic gesticulations with our hands and limbs) with either our landlords, their boss or the actual repair person, or some random English/Khmer speaker they’d found translating via mobile phone. As you can imagine, this makes everything take extra time.
I’ve never taken care of an entire house, and have a new-found respect for those who do. It’s very dusty here, and there are still leftover monsoon thunderstorms with sudden downpours that flood the streets. This adds to the upkeep tremendously. That, and a 70 pound German Shepherd who is shedding like a maniac.
All in all, it feels like a full time job setting up a home here, getting it functional and maintaining it. The good news is that in less than 3 weeks, we have a really cool, comfortable place – a kick-ass pad, with lots of play space and room for you!

List:
This is for those of you who said you will visit, who’ve expressed an inclination, or to entice those of you who just didn’t know you wanted to visit yet

Reasons to come visit:
1. You have a room here. It’s true, we have a guest room with your name on it. It has an ensuite bathroom with a shower – we had hot water installed just for you. We also have an office, an art studio and a small dance studio.
2. The roof top. It pretty much has a 360 degree view. You can watch the sunrise, if you so desire, and the sunset, from the same spot.
3. The patio. On the third floor, slightly better positioned than the roof to watch the street bustle and neighbourhood activity. Open air, but covered, where I am sitting now on a big comfy cushioned wicker chair, drinking my coffee…
4. We live in a really Khmer neighbourhood, which means that we are some of the only “barangs” (expats). If you really want a daily dose of Cambodian living, this is it. It also means that people are friendlier (less hustle) and everything is cheaper than the districts where the barangs tend to congregate.
5. “Our boys”: Tubs and Skinny Boy – our night guards. We don’t actually know their names and our landlords insist they are called “The boy” (Singularly referring to both of them. Tubs is quick to smile, Skinny Boy is more stoic. They keep the place secure at night, and will be there to open the outer gate for you when you stumble out of the tuk tuk after a night of dancing.
6. The Boyz. My new co-workers. Very endearing Cambodian- Americans, deported back to the motherland after felony offences. They run the program I work for and are usually up for beer drinking, karaoke nights (and karaoke girls), shooting the shit and story telling.
7. The family next door. The little girl is super sweet and will help you practice your Khmer – as she is eager to practice her English. Her grandmother is totally eccentric, and more than a little crazy. She will most definitely cackle away at you in Khmer, even if all you say in return is “I don’t understand,” she’ll just keep on talking.
8. The market (daytime). We live a short walk from Toul Tompong Market, also known as Russian Market. While it’s fun to shop around in there for silks, pirated DVDs, silver and gold, designer knock-offs, opium pipes or motorcycle parts, it’s also where we go for spices, fresh fruit and veggies and delicious lunches that cost less than a $1.
9. The night market (same location). In the evening the food and drink vendors set up outside. Delicious soups, noodles, fried breads, desserts and drinks such as fresh sugar cane juice… again, all for under $1.
10. We have two tuk tuk drivers named Mr. T and Ara. They pick us up when we call and take us wherever we need to go. They can be your driver too.
11. We have a moto and can navigate the busy streets. It will be a ride like no other.
12. Hip hop. All of the clubs play really great hip hop and mashups. I know this and have experienced it and am still pleasantly surprised each time I go out.
13. Pontoon. We will go dancing on an old pontoon barge. Great music, great location.
14. Tiny Toones. The breakdancing school run by another returnee. Just down the street from our new house – kids who can barely walk yet are learning to dance, alongside the teens and peer mentors who will definitely show you a thing or two. They also perform around town and at Pontoon.
15. Snow’s Place. We sit on a deck on stilts over the river, in one of the most eclectic venues in Phnom Penh – full of strange remodeled furniture, pointillism art and paraphernalia fashioned out of war remnants, oh and hundreds of cowbells.
16. If all this sounds like busy days and nights, you can decompress at one of the reputable Spa and Massage places we have found, with friendly experience staff and no happy endings (if you want that we can help you find the place for you). Massages and treatments are at least a third cheaper than in North America.
17. We’re here!!! And we want you to visit. We moved into this house so we could have visitors. Three years go by quickly, so start saving your pennies and book your ticket soon.

And these are just the personal reasons and offerings. There is also the fact that we live in Cambodia, the history of the place, the people, the temples, the rainforest reserves, the islands less traveled than Thailand, the river that changes directions depending on the season, the floating communities, etc etc etc.