tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67613990385358342202024-02-19T07:04:03.612-08:00Le Cambodge Summeraliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-33341474610408294672011-07-27T00:22:00.000-07:002011-07-27T00:22:09.391-07:00Angkor WatSo I was looking back through some of the older posts, and I was laughing about how it seems that I have a tendency to only write about whatever horrible ailments I've had. I'm a complainer. I will stop.<br />
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Instead, I'm going to talk about what it was like to visit Angkor Wat, the 8th World Wonder. Or, rather, I'm going to <i>show</i> you what it looks like, pictures being worth a 1,000 words and all.<br />
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This place is HUGE. The carvings were all done by hand, and the main buildings were done in the 12th century (to give you some perspective, about the same time Notre Dame was being constructed in Paris). You can scale temple after temple, with steep climbs up to the top affording incredible views of the surrounding area.<br />
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Also, <i>these guys</i> were there. We had an understanding, where if I ran away from them each time they made any sort of movement, they would get to laugh at me and leave me alone. It's especially embarrassing to have a nursing mother of an infant cause such fear:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Baby hanging on to mom:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: auto;">Me learning how to light incense as an offering:</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tomb Raider was filmed here. The restaurants downtown take advantage of this, with one bar even letting you order "The Angelina Jolie", which was some sort of fruity alcoholic concoction. </div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next day, we went on a day hike up through the rainforest to see some more temple ruins and a waterfall. I was more than a little winded and sweaty as we climbed over rocks and trees in order to make it to the top, but it was so worth it. This hike ranks in my top 3 favorite things I've done in Cambodia. Lots of Cambodian families also do the hike for picnics on the weekend, so I felt a little silly when moms in heels carrying children and picnic baskets were <i>passing me</i> as I struggled to the top of the mountain. Guess I need to work on a little cardiovascular training when I get back to Boston.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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Carvings from ruins in forest:<br />
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Yes, I look a damp sweaty mess:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Butterfly landing on my flip flop (yes, those flip flops):</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">More ruins in the waterbed:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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Waterfall at top with incredibly cold, fresh water; worth the trip!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After the waterfall hike, we visited one more temple before calling it a day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-42590907017595809432011-07-25T03:09:00.000-07:002011-07-25T03:10:24.599-07:00Force-feeding someone corn is not the cure for headachesI decided to stick out the rest of the trip, and eased my way back into food by sticking to rice and Coca-Cola for a couple of meals. Leah and I met up with members from a different NGO that morning, as our coworkers were not attending the protest.<br />
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</div><div>There's one major highway that runs between Phnom Penh and Siem Reap, home to Cambodia's biggest tourist attraction, the temples of Angkor Wat. Lots of tourists fly straight into Siem Reap, but many choose to spend some time in Phnom Penh and then take a bus up to Siem Reap. Kampong Thom is the halfway point, which we didn't realize until we saw, on a scheduled hourly basis, hoards of tourists stop at our hotel/restaurant to 1) use the bathroom, and 2) buy ice cream. Say what you will about the health of Kampong Thom's economy in other areas, but that ice cream business is <i>thriving</i>. Feeling a little like old locals (now that we've been living here for a grand total of 2 months), we had quite a bit of fun laughing at the western tourists stopping through in their spotless head-to-toe khaki safari gear. Because you never know when you're going to run into a tiger on the way to the toilet on your Greyhound bus.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So we headed to the protest. A group of villagers were involved in a land dispute with the government; the government was trying to give farming land to a private corporate agriculture firm for lots of cash, while the people said the land was rightfully theirs....and again, no proper title on either side, so a lot of finger-pointing going on. Several farmers were currently unlawfully detained in prison because of the dispute, so along with land protection, the protestors wanted everyone released from jail. They decided to host this protest on the one major highway discussed above, shutting down tourist bus traffic (and traffic in general) for an entire day. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I think the most interesting thing about this was that it actually brought the issue of farming land disputes front and center to the tourists, who otherwise would have driven through the pretty landscape completely clueless about what type of conflicts are happening. They got off their buses, and walked around taking pictures and speaking to local representatives about the issues.</div><div><br />
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The sign was asking Prime Minister Hun Sen to intervene and protect the local farmers' land.<br />
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</div><div>We stayed at the protest for several hours before the fire trucks started to show up. They were there to spray the protestors, who in turn were ready to retaliate by throwing rocks. We had to take cover pretty quickly. </div><div><br />
</div><div>By the way, check out who donated the pretty, brand-new fire truck, and made sure to print the donation on the side of the truck in English so westerners could read it:</div><div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNI0ELSUHPinpPq30SiUTPmW3qtMs7dHqunVPKiz7Vr9IazdJtVr1oBk48il9gU68jjPft2r7tnvRVz7GEU8metnMGUGW8M3xBCHg5XtalFq0daXboC2cmqjiYySP86ChPuKs_jj3ANjXq/s1600/Cambodia+047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNI0ELSUHPinpPq30SiUTPmW3qtMs7dHqunVPKiz7Vr9IazdJtVr1oBk48il9gU68jjPft2r7tnvRVz7GEU8metnMGUGW8M3xBCHg5XtalFq0daXboC2cmqjiYySP86ChPuKs_jj3ANjXq/s320/Cambodia+047.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div><div>Luckily, the first rock was never launched because a government official came to negotiate with the protestors.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Around lunchtime there was still a lot of talking going on, so we decided to go to our boss's mom's house for some lunch in a nearby village. I ended up getting sick <i>again</i>, but this time it was a migraine. My boss's mother, who took quite the liking to Leah and me, became extremely concerned and decided to treat me as her patient. This woman isn't your usual kindly old grandmother; she's a tough cookie who, among other things, got her 5 kids through the Khmer Rouge regime. She doesn't take no for an answer. When I was feeling rough, she ordered Leah and I to lie down on some mats, inserting pillows under our heads and commanding us to sleep. It was the most enforced nap time I've ever experienced. After the nap, she told me (in Khmer, so a lot of lecturing and me just nodding) that I needed to eat something, because I didn't have enough power in me. She went outside, and came back with a bag full of ears of corn. </div><div><br />
</div><div>She pushed the bag at me. I shook my head. She pushed it again, pointing forcefully at it and telling me to eat. I, like a 3-year-old, resolutely shook my head again. Then she ripped one out of the bag and shoved it in my hand. I gulped, and decided that the only way to make this back-and-forth stop was for me to eat the damn corn. She seemed satisfied after this. My headache was still there, but I was relieved that my new Khmer grandmother was done with her medical treatment. </div><div><br />
</div><div>We received word that the protest was finished and the road to Siem Reap was open again. The people the protestors wanted released from prison did indeed get released, and the government officials agreed to talk with them about the land problems. We were once again off on our trip.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Angkor Wat next....</div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-90616245741735868482011-07-23T07:36:00.000-07:002011-07-23T07:36:53.085-07:00And then there was the time when I accidentally asked my boss if he visits prostitutes.<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">At the beginning of July, Leah and I went on another trip out to the provinces with members from the Land Law Program. We were told to be ready at 10:00 a.m. <i>sharp</i>, and that the manager would pick us up at our respective abodes. </div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">When someone tells me I have until 10, I will use <i>every second up until then</i> to get ready. Part of the reason this takes so long is because of my mandatory morning iPod dance party. The longer you give me to get my day started, the more songs that are added to the playlist. I'll reward myself for brushing my teeth by discoing to some KC and the Sunshine Band, or celebrate washing my face by jumping around to Lady Gaga. </div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So needless to say, I wasn't exactly ready when the call came through that the car was 15 minutes early and waiting outside my door. Stopped midway through step-ball-kick-changing, I cradled the phone in horror as I realized I needed to be going <i>now.</i> Glancing at the one, lonely sock that had managed to actually make its way into my weekend bag, I squeaked that I would need a minute or two. </div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">After a whirlwind packing job, I raced down to the company car. Unlike the last trip, which was spent in a rather roomy Toyota Camry, our trusty steed for this journey was an extremely cramped truck. This was the type of truck where the backseat, consisting of three inches of foam and an unforgiving metal slab, was a manufacturing afterthought. I jumped in, already sweating, and apologized for holding everyone up. We pulled away from the curb, drove two blocks...and stopped. Turns out, the manager wanted to check on some passport paperwork (he's visiting the U.S. soon), and figured now would be a good time to run some errands. Hurry up and wait at its best.</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Our coworker in the front seat took this time to excitedly reveal that he brought a snack for us for the road. He opened a styrofoam carton, immediately releasing a stomach-churning stench that could only belong to one fruit: DURIAN. </div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Durian is described as the "king of fruits" in Asia, and is sold along the streets <i>everywhere</i>. It has a really distinctive, horrible smell; it probably became king by suffocating all the other fruits into whimpering submission. Not exactly a kind, gentle ruler.</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> I just looked it up on Wikipedia, and found that this description sums up durian quite nicely:</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">The edible flesh emits a distinctive odour, strong and penetrating even when the husk is intact. Some people regard the durian as fragrant; others find the aroma overpowering and offensive. The smell evokes reactions from deep appreciation to intense disgust, and has been described variously as almonds</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">, rotten onions, turpentine </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">and gym socks. The odour has led to the fruit's banishment from certain hotels and public transportation in southeast Asia." </span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Durian has the consistency of a mealy avocado, and peels out of it's spiny covering in segments that look like insect nests. It was not exactly a passenger I wanted on a five hour car trip. We politely declined, and, once our manager leisurely returned to the truck, began on our way. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">During our trip, we got into a discussion with our three male Cambodian coworkers about marriage and gender roles. They were explaining that traditionally in Cambodia, the husband would earn all the household money, but would hand over each paycheck to the wife, as she was the family financial manager. They explained that the wife knows how much day-to-day things like shopping for food and basic things around the house cost, and it was easier for her to be in control of the cash so she wouldn't have to ask the husband all the time for money. For big purchases, they would decide together, but otherwise she was calling the spending shots. This led to the following conversation:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Me: But does the husband have to give <i>all</i> of his money? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My Boss: Yes, everything. Because otherwise he wouldn't spend it on what is best for the family.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Me (lazily not thinking): But let's say he makes $500, can he keep $50 of it for just some personal spending money? You know, to go to lunch with friends, or, I don't know, go to karaoke?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><i>Uncomfortable laughter ensues all around, followed by a quick "no". </i></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Leah (whispering to me): <i>Remember that karaoke bars are usually places of prostitution here. </i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Yeah. Awkward.</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We headed north for Kampong Thom so that one of the lawyers could meet with some clients and Leah and I could attend a protest being held by people from a village involved in a land dispute with the government. Kampong Thom ended up being a blink-and-you-miss-it-but-frankly-you-want-to-miss-this type place. The entire downtown area consisted of three blocks, one of which was a garden area with a pond filled with what I think malaria would look like in a liquid state. A fake crocodile and a random bronze statue surrounded by barbed wire completed the setting for a family-friendly atmosphere.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Leah on the bridge over poisonous muck:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJVRjXF7BOR_BK5ESbVInV5m0k2fQ2hAiII1WyD0Xxjs4QFVyPKUAp6RYDrCG-m6g9tStjYx3ZV1zXpKgL8XKtGlJroELqlU4S9D4GH9bvEGVsLe4zByGTniU5ZT5zPqd8teAMISWNNc8/s1600/IMG_1174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJVRjXF7BOR_BK5ESbVInV5m0k2fQ2hAiII1WyD0Xxjs4QFVyPKUAp6RYDrCG-m6g9tStjYx3ZV1zXpKgL8XKtGlJroELqlU4S9D4GH9bvEGVsLe4zByGTniU5ZT5zPqd8teAMISWNNc8/s320/IMG_1174.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div>Leah, by the way, earns the award for most patient travel buddy, as she ended up being my nurse for about 2/3 of the trip. About 30 minutes after going to bed on the first night, I woke up with severe food poisoning. This was despite my best efforts of playing "Push the Food" (busying yourself by moving your food around the plate throughout the meal and flattening it to make it look like you've eaten more than you have) and "Spoon Hiding" (pile up the worst things you don't want to put in your mouth on one corner of the plate, then quickly cover with spoon and give to waiter. Cannot be played with chopsticks.) during each of our group meals at questionable roadside establishments. I spent the entire night huddled on the floor of the bathroom, plotting ways to get back to a doctor in Phnom Penh in between waves of illness. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I, however, did not have the worst medical issues that night. The walls of this fine establishment were eggshell-thick, and the man in the room next to ours was dying from something <i>awful. </i>He had rattling coughs that choked him to the point of suffocation; at one point, we thought we might knock on his door and politely say, "Excuse me, sir, but we think you have consumption."</div><div><br />
</div><div>So between the coughing guy and me retching in the bathroom, Leah found herself in an impromptu hospital ward. She was incredibly nice about it the next morning when I was finally feeling better, and even went out to a gas station to get me some crackers and Diet Coke for breakfast. I decided to carry on with the rest of the trip.</div><div><br />
</div><div>More tomorrow....</div></div></div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-80689353430889437582011-07-16T20:29:00.000-07:002011-07-16T20:29:49.374-07:00Canada v. U.S.A. (spoiler alert: I think U.S. wins)<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Sorry it's been so long since posting; I've been out in the provinces, moving into a new apartment, and generally just being exhausted. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The last place I left off was around July 1st and 4th, two days of rather loud, patriotic North American celebrations. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><u>Canada Day</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vlPc1NbvPNCWktBO5ZYP4KYjCZwX-6c7i2iZdRLLWCZ8RnV8_EzZfDmRVnZlBmOC43uC94YndudtkgNX0hs2GC3VBjV9WMkKD5B08xcvEU6wZdSvxuGsK0RJiISTOk1GIHJIFBHZiUAM/s1600/IMG_1097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vlPc1NbvPNCWktBO5ZYP4KYjCZwX-6c7i2iZdRLLWCZ8RnV8_EzZfDmRVnZlBmOC43uC94YndudtkgNX0hs2GC3VBjV9WMkKD5B08xcvEU6wZdSvxuGsK0RJiISTOk1GIHJIFBHZiUAM/s320/IMG_1097.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And now, dear readers, you'll have to help decide which independence day, American or Canadian, was the superior celebration. Canada Day was first up, and for us took place at a local sports bar that had hired an Irish band (?) to play songs, and had a giant PowerPoint presentation of well, Canada. It included pictures of Toronto, British Columbia, Quebec, different government buildings and cultural centers. Oddly, there was one slide of a giant wolf randomly inserted in between photos of the Toronto CN Tower and Parliament (think majestic, leaping wolf t-shirts worn by the Dungeons and Dragons kids in middle school). </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">About halfway through the evening, one of the Canadian kids attempted to enter a beer-drinking contest. I say attempted, because when the bell rang to begin he stood their sipping it like it was afternoon tea, while some big, burly, fresh-from-logging-and/or-clubbing-baby-seals guy beside him finished in 30 seconds. He still walked away with an Angkor shirt and hat, which, given that Angkor's company colors are red and yellow, made him look like he was working the drive-thru window at McDonald's. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">After a few beers (Corona, by the way. I was an American at a Canada Day party drinking Mexican beer, thus safely representing the whole continent at once), we decided to call it a night. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Here are some pics of us celebrating all things Canadian. Arielle, I hope you're proud: </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Nick yet again blinking in a photo:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><u>4th of July</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><u><br />
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</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Now let's juxtapose the rather calm Canada Day with the massive July 4th party at the American embassy. We all bought tickets weeks in advance, and had to go through a background check to even get in the door. Cooler bouncer system? Check. There was a live band, which the Canadians were quick to point out was playing Canadian artists (is Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" the new "My Country Tis of Thee"?). We had face painting, bbq, burritos, cheeseburgers, KFC (the only American fast food restaurant in the country), and ice cream. Beer, including American brands, was everywhere. There was even the latest John Deer tractor on display for pictures. Not. Kidding. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I have no clue who these people are, but they're on the tractor:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A stage was set up for a pie-eating contest, and members from the Battambang circus performed acrobatics throughout the evening. At one point, while I was watching some of the acrobats, I got into a conversation about the circus with a lovely woman eating some vanilla ice cream. It took me about a minute to realize she was actually the ambassador.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Some of the group:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Canadians we brought the 4th of July (yes, those are maple leaves painted on their cheeks):</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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American brew:<br />
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Cambodian Uncle Sam awkwardly pointing at my chest (right in front of the Cambodian Democrats for Obama stand):<br />
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Battambang circus acrobats:<br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">At one point, while I was standing around talking to some buddies, a Cambodian man ran up to me and asked if he could take his picture with me. I looked behind him, and saw a group of Cambodians with cameras waiting. Feeling very much like a giant mouse in a theme park, I said sure. When the rest of my group saw what was happening, they jumped in the photo too, which encouraged the other Cambodians to join in, which culminated in a photo shoot involving around 15 people. I'm trying to find more pictures of this, but don't have any on my camera so will have to wait until later when I grab them from someone else. Just wanted to write this down now, so I'll remember what it feels like to be a tourist attraction in my own right. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So vote: Canada Day or 4th of July??</div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-20933886556359471802011-07-01T23:33:00.000-07:002011-07-01T23:33:53.387-07:00The Loose-Ends Post<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I was flipping through my camera, and came across some shots of various outings that I meant to post here but never really got around to doing so. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><u>Kingdom Brewery</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><u><br />
</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A group of us went on a brewery tour after work a few weeks back to learn about a beer that, surprisingly, wasn't Angkor or Anchor. It's brewed using imported German and Czech hops, and tastes a little more bitter and crisp than other Cambodian beers. Actually, to call it a Cambodian beer isn't exactly true; it's owned by a German CEO, and was funded in part by American and Dutch investors. It's marketed as a boutique brewery with quite an impressive bar overlooking the river, and I would absolutely recommend the brewery tour to anyone passing through Phnom Penh. For $6, they give you three full glasses of beer to start, and then allow your group to continue ordering rounds of your favorites (none of those crappy little 6oz glasses like the Sam Adams tour). </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Learning about the brewing process:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The packaging section:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKbFYzgD7DnLc33LFL4dcnTzvZDgXFofsGfUW4YUO9UZF4uRAqtgDQDN9lxXqt7L7Fj69ACjOEpnBQYOBYh8tDanTpUTktOx_qFYmi2R6KVdZhE2DChng7IirDd_n9wn9DzdxOJL4_DWW/s1600/IMG_0307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKbFYzgD7DnLc33LFL4dcnTzvZDgXFofsGfUW4YUO9UZF4uRAqtgDQDN9lxXqt7L7Fj69ACjOEpnBQYOBYh8tDanTpUTktOx_qFYmi2R6KVdZhE2DChng7IirDd_n9wn9DzdxOJL4_DWW/s320/IMG_0307.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The upstairs sampling bar (with some of our group's moto helmets in the foreground):</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6chSUUjORGVDRBza1jGqzEC2p4ThYu-hQgD5supQuCEbnJC1ZvaeDR_-JaRzoSp4ErDPqooTEZz6CnEXKGg3RIQmvVXmgix06wlph_aR-fdGsLyyHiLCqUII0VYgR6H-WRS6ej_QlorDn/s1600/IMG_0309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6chSUUjORGVDRBza1jGqzEC2p4ThYu-hQgD5supQuCEbnJC1ZvaeDR_-JaRzoSp4ErDPqooTEZz6CnEXKGg3RIQmvVXmgix06wlph_aR-fdGsLyyHiLCqUII0VYgR6H-WRS6ej_QlorDn/s320/IMG_0309.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju3P9Dcz8q95TDt4raR15sa7nWOecbxG7up6s_NSj-KvyBV-Bd77_coA1SSjbLHw3i7KK12_zx_h4yTHn7zYtVoIj2AVtpKAS7IszMvNAhAmkHhH8kEAUWIht-qqHOTLvTZkazEcJIyWOF/s1600/IMG_0310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju3P9Dcz8q95TDt4raR15sa7nWOecbxG7up6s_NSj-KvyBV-Bd77_coA1SSjbLHw3i7KK12_zx_h4yTHn7zYtVoIj2AVtpKAS7IszMvNAhAmkHhH8kEAUWIht-qqHOTLvTZkazEcJIyWOF/s320/IMG_0310.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">View from the balcony:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltOJeal9Gc-L5FYChNVK6MOBxpCDmZdCZSs6iNdBs-Q73bUdBiaY0Db0JmltNZ0Y1Upz3FwCamcIyms33Yg9K15qD6RIZ-9D6Q3ef3GTFUhHQrr_E87UfCYmwKmosSEbGe5e7Zz80PNKZ/s1600/IMG_0311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltOJeal9Gc-L5FYChNVK6MOBxpCDmZdCZSs6iNdBs-Q73bUdBiaY0Db0JmltNZ0Y1Upz3FwCamcIyms33Yg9K15qD6RIZ-9D6Q3ef3GTFUhHQrr_E87UfCYmwKmosSEbGe5e7Zz80PNKZ/s320/IMG_0311.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Nick blinking in an otherwise lovely post-tour photo:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3l7c_DwKMvflrKMNelR7-peeU5SxMkJVSiE_u0jgJti0GiWUOngOMsOtiBon7467XD0lPdSTjpT4efd_m0BeIHwrOvS6as62TqEgT2j9yFHMBWjA8kleH6NqxOt_lLVPVhIUAVk7B0hM/s1600/IMG_0312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3l7c_DwKMvflrKMNelR7-peeU5SxMkJVSiE_u0jgJti0GiWUOngOMsOtiBon7467XD0lPdSTjpT4efd_m0BeIHwrOvS6as62TqEgT2j9yFHMBWjA8kleH6NqxOt_lLVPVhIUAVk7B0hM/s320/IMG_0312.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><u>Friends Restuarant:</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><u><br />
</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I also wanted to post about a restaurant Leah and I went to a couple of weeks ago, called Friends. It's run by an NGO that helps street kids by providing housing, food, education, and training in different industries. the Friends restaurant is a branch of their hospitality training program, and is run completely by students and their teachers. When you walk inside, you can see a chalkboard displaying the names of students who are at Levels I, II, or III (based on hours of training, language skills, etc). You place your order with a student, with the teacher monitoring nearby. The menu is mostly tapas, so we shared some fish, cucumber salad, and hummus. We also had pineapple chili (yes, chili) margaritas, based on a recommendation from the manager of my guesthouse:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwjpbIbrk7tQWdn9Wj-oANdWeo0GxOH8nCkAwNV8Dsflz456Yi9rLRtNj1MiF3CmM1D_pswga1lc719q5CO68S_v-133iMAEsNZBMHzFoS4fQNCUigjd7fHJPQ5DwtWTpEqH8BCYaqTvrU/s1600/IMG_0330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwjpbIbrk7tQWdn9Wj-oANdWeo0GxOH8nCkAwNV8Dsflz456Yi9rLRtNj1MiF3CmM1D_pswga1lc719q5CO68S_v-133iMAEsNZBMHzFoS4fQNCUigjd7fHJPQ5DwtWTpEqH8BCYaqTvrU/s320/IMG_0330.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><u>Blueberry Ice Cream Oreos</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><u><br />
</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Since we're on the topic of food on my I-don't-know-where-else-to-post-this post, I thought I should mention a rather horrifying snack experience we all had on the van ride back from the coast. Before embarking on the trip, Bridgette decided to pick up some Oreos for everybody. These weren't your classic white-filling chocolate crackers goodness. Nor were they the more exotic Halloween edition. Instead, we got this:</div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcHVQ_CoMfef6n6S8RHqf_gf-F0EfjczChHKw57FgZvA_L3kTvLbnmwpDtd7Hiv_23sVZ3qdcbljzvtHuyQZMrXLv2CR9InHTuMAf4tgoU_5r0I1BAyHeJvhrBuV2SxdAm-8mlxlRvGB9/s1600/IMG_0328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbcHVQ_CoMfef6n6S8RHqf_gf-F0EfjczChHKw57FgZvA_L3kTvLbnmwpDtd7Hiv_23sVZ3qdcbljzvtHuyQZMrXLv2CR9InHTuMAf4tgoU_5r0I1BAyHeJvhrBuV2SxdAm-8mlxlRvGB9/s320/IMG_0328.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div><div>It tasted like children's decongestant medicine. Who thought this was a good idea? Why is Kraft making Oreos instead of Nabisco? And who thinks that REAL blueberry ice cream tastes anything like an oral vaccine? </div><div><br />
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</div><div>That's it for the loose-end pictures. We're having a very busy weekend right now; I'm moving into my new apartment (yay for no more guesthouses!), Canada Day was last night (deserves its own post), and our July 4th celebration at the U.S. Embassy is happening tomorrow. Will keep you updated!</div></div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-64925313870310175372011-06-27T04:59:00.000-07:002011-06-27T18:45:34.406-07:00Swim with a buddy, people.<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I missed work the Monday after the food poisoning. I limped back in on Tuesday, and was proud that I was able to sit up at the desk for the entire work day. The rest of the week I worked with another intern on a funding proposal for the juvenile justice program. This mostly consisted of us editing multiple pages of broken English into something a little more coherent. The proposal is still in its rough draft stages, so I'm not sure yet if we're going to get the grant.</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We submitted everything by the end of the week, just in time for us to prepare for our weekend trip to Sihanoukville, a large beach town filled with backpackers with varying levels of acquaintance with soap. What started as a small group from my office morphed into 13 interns from different legal organizations, all ready to spend some time at the ocean. The plan was to spend one night in Sihanoukville, and then take a two-hour boat ride to an island off the coast called Koh Rong Saloem. The island is owned by the Cambodian navy, but a British guy has leased a section of the property and has built a series of small beachfront cabins on a private beach. The website displayed shocking sunsets, relaxing hammocks, and gorgeous, turquoise water waiting steps from your front door. Paradise, right?</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Not so perfect if you've decided to travel to said paradise during the rainy season. The short boat ride to the island, touted as part of the exotic experience, turned into a contest between us trying to drive over the ocean and the ocean constantly trying to knock us back to shore. The ocean mostly won. After we had to leap down into the boat (boarding planks are for wimps), culminating in two members of our party landing flat on their backs on the floor of the vessel, we spent the next few hours of our lives being pelted by gigantic, angry raindrops. Each wave sent the boat reeling back and forth, rocking dangerously each way to the point that I readied myself for us to capsize. </div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I've never seen so many people turn green simultaneously. Heads dipped between knees at an alarming rate as waves of nausea kept time with the tossing current. Weary hands reached for Dramamine. About halfway through the ride, the waves claimed their first victim, a teacher who was coming to the island for a quick vacation. It was her first, and, given how long she slumped over the edge of the railing, probably last time on a boat. One of the law students, who had spent most of the ride clutching her stomach and staring at the floor, happily stood up as soon as the boat slowed near our final destination. She promptly vomited as one last swell shuddered through the cabin. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The boat wasn't able to dock ride at the beach because the waters were too shallow, so we had to swim a short distance to shore. Our belongings, which had been pelted with rain through the whole ride out, floated behind us in giant rubbermaid containers. I extracted my soaking wet duffle bag and backpack, ready to settle into my cabin and a healthy-sized cocktail. I quickly searched the coastline, looking for some semblance of housing, but couldn't seem to find anything. I was then told that a short hike through the jungle was required in order for us to reach our lodging. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">At this point, I began to question my travel decision-making skills. <i>This ocean, </i>I remember thinking, <i>better be filled with diamond-encrusted fish that grant me three wishes while singing my favorite showtunes. </i>The rain was considerate enough to violently start up again as soon as we started marching through the wilderness. Just in case, you know, any of us still had dry underwear. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And so we walked. And walked. And walked a little more. Some friends of ours had just told us horror stories of being attacked by leeches while hiking in a different province, so each time I came into contact with say, a leaf, I yelped and pathetically flailed my limbs (I did, by the way, make it through the walk unscathed). Finally, the path cleared, and a community of thatched huts dotted the road to a rather impressive open-air bar and restaurant, complete with the hammocks from the website and fantastic chairs, all with a perfect view of the sea. We broke off into groups and were led to our cabins, each with a front porch and two hammocks. The bedrooms had two queen-size beds covered with mosquito nets, and a bathroom attached (with a do-it-yourself flushing mechanism, consisting of a non-flushing toilet with a big barrel of water and a bucket beside it. Ah, camping). We found out later that we had some roommates, including bats in the bedroom and lizards the size of my forearm in the shower. I figured if I was bitten by the former, Robert Pattinson would appear and angsty teen rock would start playing as we rode off for Seattle; the latter, well, maybe I'd develop a taste for insects. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We settled in quite nicely, eating very nice food (I chose sweet and sour chicken for the first night, absolutely fantastic), and taking advantage of Lazy Beach's board games. Law students--and I know this is shocking--can be viciously competitive, especially when something like winning a game of Taboo or, even sadder, Jenga is at stake. We played for hours, stopping long enough to go for a night swim before heading to sleep. I didn't run into any diamond fish, but the company was still more than lovely.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The next morning after a breakfast of toast and Nutella (NUTELLA!!), I stupidly decided to go for a morning swim on my own. Some of the other interns were still inside the restaurant having breakfast, so I thought that they could still see me in case I ran into any trouble. There were also some guys on the shore collecting wood, so again I thought a quick dip would be safe. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Fast forward 30 minutes. I'm splashing around, when suddenly three huge waves consecutively crash down on top of me, dragging me out into the water. I tried to touch bottom, but couldn't reach. Paddling forward a few feet, I tried again. Nothing. Over and over, I tried to swim closer to land, but each time I was quickly sucked back out by the increasingly choppy water. I started screaming for help, but the guys on the shore continued about their business, unable to hear me over the waves. I've always been a decent swimmer-- not strong like Ben or Mom, but able to keep my head above water thus far--but this was overpowering me. My muscles started to get tired from thrashing about so much; I was in a full panic. Finally, I got my breathing under control, and remembered my parents telling me to swim parallel to the shore if I'm ever fighting against an undertow. Inch by inch, for 20 minutes, I crawled my way back to the shore. When I finally got out, every part of me was shaking. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I wasn't keen to dive back into the water very quickly, so instead I opted to join Leah and Nick on a hike over some rocks in order to see the beach from a different view. It felt a little like bouldering at times; there was a lot of walking over sharp coral, and slick rocks because it had, yet again, started to rain. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Here are some pics from our trip over the rocky terrain. I was worried when Nick started the trip by saying, "The first person to not break her ankle wins.":</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Calm, pretty, private beach:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0VUeW0g3NTHNPE-xKTTunWKJM8HmVNF7i1t0yGWKMijIyHD7ctKwjejDltMIrPbXQZ3LWs_nSomOFmQv0rmuljz0ANu-1l5Y4lYcdiKYQDUZKUbmK8fpAX9Gn5V6oLXL68vRCeExu2juE/s1600/IMG_1072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0VUeW0g3NTHNPE-xKTTunWKJM8HmVNF7i1t0yGWKMijIyHD7ctKwjejDltMIrPbXQZ3LWs_nSomOFmQv0rmuljz0ANu-1l5Y4lYcdiKYQDUZKUbmK8fpAX9Gn5V6oLXL68vRCeExu2juE/s320/IMG_1072.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwavMUoBZhWe8SG7ZZpXPBU_l8YVIhbWAIeP3Nn0OqS466X7gZ37LrGSaLr_v132tm6QfGnIi8eUQr1Is8GPPEufJPuYurGVQbXNToaEVS6KQogGo0GeSDzqJeuh8IDvXA44zAbVng5Wxu/s1600/IMG_1075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwavMUoBZhWe8SG7ZZpXPBU_l8YVIhbWAIeP3Nn0OqS466X7gZ37LrGSaLr_v132tm6QfGnIi8eUQr1Is8GPPEufJPuYurGVQbXNToaEVS6KQogGo0GeSDzqJeuh8IDvXA44zAbVng5Wxu/s320/IMG_1075.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The road gets a little rocky:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSLYxxLV3cSZ_7w37_hyKadwsh4esjZSnhpiuao5NbMG1cpvYy3Vtfji5dBP9rV45dBMHdMGEffFQ9_l1mVeffqLf-yjXEisfNYpoev0fre3X2ZeQxQVbwZEh6mry3drZs1_GbVVqV3nT/s1600/IMG_1077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSLYxxLV3cSZ_7w37_hyKadwsh4esjZSnhpiuao5NbMG1cpvYy3Vtfji5dBP9rV45dBMHdMGEffFQ9_l1mVeffqLf-yjXEisfNYpoev0fre3X2ZeQxQVbwZEh6mry3drZs1_GbVVqV3nT/s320/IMG_1077.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTXThCohuEgjUFnhyKqsZCa68_T2KAQGB-0G0NwKvLYmiyVRZti6Aif46VK-Kx_K9ogl6mf-0aICnLfjnWmWjqc25XF1h-yFW0jhB5u6AxvIxMI6BZwMyhfYJiuxu6QFAx459DeaGPpGBh/s1600/IMG_1078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTXThCohuEgjUFnhyKqsZCa68_T2KAQGB-0G0NwKvLYmiyVRZti6Aif46VK-Kx_K9ogl6mf-0aICnLfjnWmWjqc25XF1h-yFW0jhB5u6AxvIxMI6BZwMyhfYJiuxu6QFAx459DeaGPpGBh/s320/IMG_1078.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Stopping for a rest:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-iALRidJ_KLuHbDTj3ez6bQ-cF-WOx0fEdYcOAi0c2CzHQr-pTaetpMyr7hnHpFfaIfdoPWSJOKaa8fzjM8eOBAafb8s1OE39nwkYkSCwnUGtMTouzEWAAZYY_P7QtyuBWtIfUIlxUIYp/s1600/IMG_1079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-iALRidJ_KLuHbDTj3ez6bQ-cF-WOx0fEdYcOAi0c2CzHQr-pTaetpMyr7hnHpFfaIfdoPWSJOKaa8fzjM8eOBAafb8s1OE39nwkYkSCwnUGtMTouzEWAAZYY_P7QtyuBWtIfUIlxUIYp/s320/IMG_1079.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Do you see a walking path? Because I sure don't: </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Am9VK1V7GYFX_9JQCIn_n9TFisFoh-25yIJM7zdCsKyXxxZrFj-xZnlKoe_mYpMoC2SfcV6N1bo3cB9qDeJwHFTpL_rvxsPgliFoLSdjhJDRAvisVOIxAWGcs4UuaYb0vwzEwuELxQKc/s1600/IMG_1081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Am9VK1V7GYFX_9JQCIn_n9TFisFoh-25yIJM7zdCsKyXxxZrFj-xZnlKoe_mYpMoC2SfcV6N1bo3cB9qDeJwHFTpL_rvxsPgliFoLSdjhJDRAvisVOIxAWGcs4UuaYb0vwzEwuELxQKc/s320/IMG_1081.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">View making it all worth it:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOiC9s2kODnSR6RO6ml4TcyRp_znV6Ll-1KzkMUdL29t3Tew3k_jA1cVQnOPYbsAf_q89fG1c6dChWJ8P1CNw0JRWVU_SrHB5f76fpZXP3dbgsXyoOeEyb1nXDeKzZejmvOI3C0bgIyxYF/s1600/IMG_1082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOiC9s2kODnSR6RO6ml4TcyRp_znV6Ll-1KzkMUdL29t3Tew3k_jA1cVQnOPYbsAf_q89fG1c6dChWJ8P1CNw0JRWVU_SrHB5f76fpZXP3dbgsXyoOeEyb1nXDeKzZejmvOI3C0bgIyxYF/s320/IMG_1082.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcj5nR17w6gp_Woe2j_9yMc-JdsxQYpPbThk7_DRjPaGjmZjGrmVVrKjJWg035wui5dd9xnSTKZQOJ5LiwQCMgcjin39DlsvBEOQMLSygeWZ8Pelsj7O3lYBJNYn41QQm-Y5KCYJb4maO/s1600/IMG_1083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcj5nR17w6gp_Woe2j_9yMc-JdsxQYpPbThk7_DRjPaGjmZjGrmVVrKjJWg035wui5dd9xnSTKZQOJ5LiwQCMgcjin39DlsvBEOQMLSygeWZ8Pelsj7O3lYBJNYn41QQm-Y5KCYJb4maO/s320/IMG_1083.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1N69FHl7ITugS949FXzlJ_lZgCQyfw926QtGnYxTlnalVCXM0EsfyeRFPkgf7jkizWuMDJISHweECzuI9Ei-EXhqTRotnphMc3FVQxCB5mQvFlRt9ZsDfh1PdYtuKUB4tlyP6tqTBfZS/s1600/IMG_1084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1N69FHl7ITugS949FXzlJ_lZgCQyfw926QtGnYxTlnalVCXM0EsfyeRFPkgf7jkizWuMDJISHweECzuI9Ei-EXhqTRotnphMc3FVQxCB5mQvFlRt9ZsDfh1PdYtuKUB4tlyP6tqTBfZS/s320/IMG_1084.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The people at the front desk said we could do the climb barefoot. Um....</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAIHyYctOYXQ5o8JbtsY5McxmAcEIo9JE7Mg2zjxfuLtwqTaquCGRQ7mcrAQztdDhbIEJxY9UGMvD6FSaglECGLM6I1BY4yLU8Gbp12i2ao-SjRmes1qG0q11BVWFXyaKW8pcEk6XmF_b4/s1600/IMG_1085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAIHyYctOYXQ5o8JbtsY5McxmAcEIo9JE7Mg2zjxfuLtwqTaquCGRQ7mcrAQztdDhbIEJxY9UGMvD6FSaglECGLM6I1BY4yLU8Gbp12i2ao-SjRmes1qG0q11BVWFXyaKW8pcEk6XmF_b4/s320/IMG_1085.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Back to the start!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwBkSDakouR_VzSscWrQC1AvcgnI9bZQixnbaLk7Icikh3VaH6DS0lq8chKDiaSgIHs9I2d2dinRhRtRoVYJ8lXGQJqfi1rVDembrVQY9Nu_kJVr7KVciTsi_z_9iLLXm7XnmvgGNPAesS/s1600/IMG_1087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwBkSDakouR_VzSscWrQC1AvcgnI9bZQixnbaLk7Icikh3VaH6DS0lq8chKDiaSgIHs9I2d2dinRhRtRoVYJ8lXGQJqfi1rVDembrVQY9Nu_kJVr7KVciTsi_z_9iLLXm7XnmvgGNPAesS/s320/IMG_1087.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div></div></div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-70894723776585182712011-06-23T22:24:00.000-07:002011-06-23T22:24:42.369-07:00Raisin Bran Happy DanceLeah and I ended up leaving Bridgette in Battambang because she had a hearing to attend there the following Monday, and traveled to Siem Reap with the lawyer and administration manager to meet with another group of clients. Siem Reap is home to Angkor Wat, so I knew that it would be a rather big tourist town. However, I wasn't expecting CAMBODIA: THE DISNEY WORLD EXTRAVAGANZA!!! We were tired and muddy from walking through the provinces all morning, so it was pretty startling to drive into Siem Reap and see the Cambodian Las Vegas. Huge, beautiful resorts lined the streets, some starting at $500 a night. There were manicured walkways and gardens everywhere, and iron lampposts guiding your trip to the temple (it looked exactly like Williamsburg, VA at night). I don't usually even see this much money in the US; Leah and I stared out the window, shocked at the change in scenery from this morning. A few hours ago, I was trying not to slip face-first into a rice paddy, and now I was surrounded by malls, luxury hotels, and cars that I don't think I'm rich enough to <i>look</i> at, let alone ever ride in. There's a direct flight into Siem Reap, so many of these tourists probably only fly directly here, walk around Angkor Wat, and leave again; I'd argue that they never really visited Cambodia.<br />
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</div><div>"I don't think we're dressed well enough to walk into any of these restaurants," Leah commented. I looked down at the caked dirt streaked up and down my trousers, and felt the dried sweat on my forehead and neck acting as a strong adhesive to which my limp hair was plastered. I sadly agreed.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Because the next day would be filled with meetings and traveling back to Phnom Penh, we wouldn't have a chance to see Angkor Wat. The lawyer was kind enough to drive us by the entrance, and we expressed great interest in the...well...the inky black nothingness where apparently the temples are. I'm sure it's awe-inspiring in the daytime, or maybe even with a flashlight. </div><div><br />
</div><div>We pulled up to an outdoor Khmer restaurant right across the street from the temples. There was a huge grill, with various raw meats you could select waiting behind the grates. I learned how to eat fish off the bone (or, rather, the Cambodians laughed at me as I made a mess, causing one of them to take the poor carcass away from me before I did more damage). We also had some Cambodian cheese, which, as I'm finding with most dishes here, was made with beef. Chicken feet rounded out the meal, the black claws jutting out toward my plate as I slowly chewed my rice. At least I missed out on turtle meat, the slimy, gelatinous meat that some other unfortunate interns had to gnaw on the previous week. </div><div><br />
</div><div>We finished our work the next morning and headed back to Phnom Penh, stopping only once about an hour outside the city for some lunch. I gratefully ran inside my guesthouse, ready to jump in the shower and take a long nap.</div><div><br />
</div><div>And then the food poisoning started. Dear God, the food poisoning.</div><div><br />
</div><div>What started as a brief stomachache morphed quickly into a feverish, horrific explosion of what I was certain were the beginning stages of organ shutdown. I sadly huddled in a bed sheet next to my laptop and frantically searched for a doctor. After working in healthcare for three years, I've turned into a terrible medical snob ("I'm sorry, you graduated 2nd in your class at Harvard? You're not touching me."), so I was pretty worried about my options. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Apparently I was very dramatic on the phone, because my mom was ready to ship my dad to Bangkok to meet me after my medevac. Luckily, I felt better on Monday just as quickly as I became ill on Saturday, so he didn't have to fly halfway around the world. I had a really rough time trying to find light food to eat, until I took a trip to Lucky Supermarket, the western grocery store. Here's what I found:</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvNy2BW_6I0UI0a9OWtccMnbwYvpnb-9YItQNM28eRO7BeQcdsu9bF2nX9DeAkHtdCV2xKy7ZU0QNtmuHFittyZFKtB7I4-vyoF4knM1owpl1Zthc_zrosGWun3UdRjsuGacfGbbSpyvm/s1600/IMG_1071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvNy2BW_6I0UI0a9OWtccMnbwYvpnb-9YItQNM28eRO7BeQcdsu9bF2nX9DeAkHtdCV2xKy7ZU0QNtmuHFittyZFKtB7I4-vyoF4knM1owpl1Zthc_zrosGWun3UdRjsuGacfGbbSpyvm/s320/IMG_1071.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div><div>I wanted cereal so badly, and here was my favorite brand! I did a happy dance right in the middle of the aisle, causing quite a few people to pull their children away from the crazy lady and her raisins. I picked up some milk from Singapore, cereal from the good ole U.S. of A., and a bowl and spoon from Malaysia, so really, I was still getting an international culinary experience. </div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-49253735418495291632011-06-21T04:23:00.000-07:002011-06-22T02:19:35.995-07:00"It's like a family vacation. A never-ending, together-for-16-hours-a-day family vacation."<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Battambang is smaller than Phnom Penh, so we were curious as to how we would spend our evenings after work. The business trips here are a little different from the American counterparts. In the US, a business trip would usually involve traveling separately to an agreed-upon destination; going to some meetings in a nondescript, beige room with a powerpoint screen gently swinging in the breeze from the air conditioner; breaking for a business lunch where reports and proposals are passed around over bleu cheese salads, pasta, or maybe even a steak sandwich; followed by another meeting where attendees could congratulate themselves on the great work they did in the morning meeting, before everyone broke off to do their own thing for the night.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Not here. Here, you eat every single meal together (and no fast food; count on everything being cooked from scratch, so every table gathering is at least 90 minutes), then you travel on, well, things that once were or aspiring to be roads, crammed together in a midsize Toyota while you battle for knee space with fellow passengers, followed by some sort of evening activity.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The first night's evening activity, however, was well worth all the travel. When you flip open the Lonely Planet Cambodia travel guide (or, as I call it, my iPhone replacement for the number of times it's fed, housed, or entertained me), the section on Battambang is about a page and a half. Not exactly a happening night life for 20-somethings. Under the activities section, there were two options:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">1) one night club</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">2) the circus</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The club kind of got a mumbled, half-hearted response from us, kind of a "mweeh" sound, so it wasn't at the top of the list. The circus sounded more interesting, even though I've always been uncomfortable with circuses because of their treatment of animals (and seeing a circus in a country not especially known for animal rights protection sounded like a recipe for horrors). </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As it turned out, this was more of a Cirque du Soleil program, run by one of the coolest organizations I've seen so far in Cambodia. The circus is actually just one arm of Phare Ponleu Selpak, an NGO that runs a traditional school as well as art programs for low-income kids. The school is open to anyone, and the classes run on a drop-in basis, so whenever the kids can make it to the center they can take a dance, art, theater, or music class. The circus is made up entirely of kids and teens, and they're really successful; some of the students are just finishing up a tour of Europe and Australia. We saw jugglers, silk climbing, contortionists, and clowns; so good! It was especially cute to see a French family in the front row with two little kids that were cracking up at the three clown students on stage. Each laugh from the French kids egged the Cambodian kids to be even funnier, making wild, exaggerated faces and running all around the tent until everyone dissolved into laughter.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I tried to get some photos, but my camera battery died, so here's the website if you want to learn more about the circus:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">http://www.phareps.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=category&layout=blog&id=39&Itemid=37&lang=en</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Before the circus, we visited one of the art classrooms. There was an art show exhibit displaying the work from one of the visual art classes. Over twenty beautiful outfits hung from the ceiling, each made by the kids. I ended up talking to the teacher, a really laid-back, cooler-than-I'll-ever-be girl from Minneapolis. Her mom is American, and her dad is Cambodian, so she said that she's spending the year here teaching to learn more about her dad's side of the family. She graduated with a visual arts degree last year, so she joined Phare Ponleu Selpak and took over one of the largest art classes with students ranging from 6-years-old to 26. On her first day, she handed out pencils and paper to all the kids and asked them to draw anything they wanted. She got back about twenty pictures of Angkor Wat; apparently, looking at your partner's paper is as big of a problem here as it is in elementary schools back home.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">She decided that she needed a new plan. She told everyone that the next assignment was to make a piece of clothing, using only discarded materials that you found on the street. There was no way for them to cheat, because even if their dress or shirt designs initially looked the same, the likelihood that they would find the same materials to use was very slim. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">This was such a cool concept to me; it was great to see her use the piles of trash that collect on the street for an amazingly beautiful homework assignment. The outfits hung over tables full of decorative masks and paintings (another homework assignment, and not many Angkor Wat pictures). The kids in the class milled around as tourists came to look at their work. They looked <i>so proud</i> whenever one of the paintings or masks they created sold; it reminded me of every art show back at Herman L. Horn or William Byrd, where all the hours you spent working in the art room finally pays off with a purchase. I really wanted to buy some paintings and masks, but I didn't have enough money on me so hopefully I can make it back to Battambang before I leave the country. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Here are some pictures of the artwork:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5AiS5yxJKV3TnSqrfCT4sbivteti6JMjRkTyMIUo6dCVdOg2_T3pqc_IiyL4w1QXzx1ES1zC5XYxmAIu5_jj36GJLMpxRJkNmpyHozBuh4q6fFJOLaLGzb3yV_SmUHUI7ONe6ZBXtNkQ/s1600/IMG_1022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5AiS5yxJKV3TnSqrfCT4sbivteti6JMjRkTyMIUo6dCVdOg2_T3pqc_IiyL4w1QXzx1ES1zC5XYxmAIu5_jj36GJLMpxRJkNmpyHozBuh4q6fFJOLaLGzb3yV_SmUHUI7ONe6ZBXtNkQ/s320/IMG_1022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs1XJBaoxQUsX9wVW0bEuNmGfhWruHMa7G-Z5LD0QcXzytYQSuo6JsfiaTDXFIateLH_R2ihDQYCzl3odkWGmneJ8SjtKbPV2Y7itWY2B4qPeAsZH6nZUStn4qRz3yWhISm9gsH5PIfNgu/s1600/IMG_1023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs1XJBaoxQUsX9wVW0bEuNmGfhWruHMa7G-Z5LD0QcXzytYQSuo6JsfiaTDXFIateLH_R2ihDQYCzl3odkWGmneJ8SjtKbPV2Y7itWY2B4qPeAsZH6nZUStn4qRz3yWhISm9gsH5PIfNgu/s320/IMG_1023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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The tower of masks:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPkUKC69PRvEC-LsN2ZJWnmW2pnjfhQCbSBkcvxQ8fbMNBs6gRnvsuSZYFjrz36Lf2NFnRmQiwXQt7idLMUxPvOkpauVJ4J_hmWRL_6Nj-RwmbEkSGonQleiuw_JNXf0kXSI6BdEj9_F1G/s1600/IMG_1024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPkUKC69PRvEC-LsN2ZJWnmW2pnjfhQCbSBkcvxQ8fbMNBs6gRnvsuSZYFjrz36Lf2NFnRmQiwXQt7idLMUxPvOkpauVJ4J_hmWRL_6Nj-RwmbEkSGonQleiuw_JNXf0kXSI6BdEj9_F1G/s320/IMG_1024.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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A paper mache crab that I wanted to bring back for mom, but didn't know how to not crush him in my suitcase!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieb7n0qbeHpucFxDpbgj3d8jIlTALNClapDAC2xmYBC4cE5r5BHvKsPuCt3Lodw9HIWrLToaTxRWLMqDpAXONj6lJNZG-VEtDU6d7HIf8_zN2donP4QCXE7hq1ttZF06EWw69UjSC5aLDf/s1600/IMG_1026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieb7n0qbeHpucFxDpbgj3d8jIlTALNClapDAC2xmYBC4cE5r5BHvKsPuCt3Lodw9HIWrLToaTxRWLMqDpAXONj6lJNZG-VEtDU6d7HIf8_zN2donP4QCXE7hq1ttZF06EWw69UjSC5aLDf/s320/IMG_1026.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">All of their art materials are donated from the United States, so if you want to donate to their program check out their website for details. Trust me, the acrylics, watercolors, pencils and paper are well-used and well-loved.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The next day, we traveled to meet with one of the clients in an extremely rural region. It rained really hard the night before (sensing a weather theme here?), so the red dirt road turned into a soupy, slippery mess of slop. As we crept along, we passed several Greyhound-sized buses that were admirably Little-Engine-That-Could-ing it down the path. We had one close call, as one of them slid out of control after it passed our car and swung horizontally across the road, blocking traffic in both directions as it sunk further into the mud. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We weren't able to take the car all the way to the client, as the road narrowed down until it became a farmland path, easily traversed only on foot or by tractor. As we didn't have access to the latter (I <i>knew</i> I forgot to pack something from Roanoke), we set out on a rather arduous 2-kilometer walk (a little over a mile). </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Did you know that it's actually better to wear dress work shoes for this kind of activity instead of flip flops? Apparently, and I now know this from experience, the first time that you slip into a rather large puddle of tepid, gnat-infested water, your flip flop will attach itself to the mud and manure piles. When you try to remove said flip flop, an arch of that mud and manure will spray gracefully in the air, landing on every spare inch of skin and clothing you own. Your feet become covered in a wet, thick slime, which causes them to slip around on the flip flop until you end up straggling behind the group, calling for help (I swear that if we reverted back to a state of nature I'd die first). I only caught up after one of the lawyers spotted me, walked me over to a pond, and showed me how to clean off my feet and washed my shoes for me like I was a 3-year-old.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;">We met with the client and discussed the upcoming case. They fed us a lunch of rice and chicken, and gave us a hot tea made from water and the juice of a local fruit that's said to calm an upset stomach (it totally works, I loved it!). On the way back, we upgraded from our feet to one of the farmer's tractors. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;">The tractor's engine was, I'm convinced, ripped from an out-of-date washing machine. We were all piled on top of a wagon, which was attached to this tiny, sickly-sounding motor. It broke down on the journey. Twice. After the second time, we thanked the farmer and continued the rest of the way on foot. The lawyers kept laughing about how the American interns' answers to every inconvenience was, "No problem!" They said we must be soldiers because of all of the harsh elements we survived in order to get our legal work done. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;">Here are some pictures of us as soldiers:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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The walk begins:<br />
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Upgrade to tractor for the ride back:<br />
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The washing machine engine!<br />
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The travel doctor I met with before leaving for Cambodia asked if I would come into contact with any livestock. Nope, I said, no livestock.<br />
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<br />
Our lawyer:<br />
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Our trusty steed breaks down the first time.<br />
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Ominous clouds gathering while the engine is fixed. Rain can only help matters.<br />
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My hand clutching on for dear life during the bumpy ride.<br />
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After breaking down a second time, back to walking.<br />
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I am literally marching in this picture.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p><span id="goog_1467931507"></span><span id="goog_1467931508"></span></o:p></span></div></div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-87866588022519151622011-06-16T22:14:00.000-07:002011-06-16T22:14:17.068-07:00The Flip Flop Saga Continues.<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">On our first morning in Battambang, Leah, Bridgette, and I woke up early to grab some American breakfast at a Chinese restaurant next to the hotel (American meaning eggs and toast...I've eaten so many eggs on this trip that my blood probably just looks like yolks). We've all become a little addicted to the iced coffee here; when you ask for milk with your coffee, all the restaurants give you the condensed version. We've decided to write a letter to Starbucks when we return to the US, because condensed milk iced coffee is just the type of heart attack in a straw that America needs to round out our morning meals. Plus, the sweetness of the condensed milk covers up the fact that ALL the coffee I've found so far has been instant, which makes my soul cry a little each day. When I get off the airplane in Richmond in August, I need to go straight to a 7-Eleven for some real beans.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">After eating, we packed into a car to drive out to one of the villages to meet with a client involved with a land dispute. Actually, that's not exactly true. The lawyer and administrative director hadn't eaten yet, so we went for a second breakfast. This was odd to us, since we had been told to hurry because apparently the land dispute was reaching dangerous levels, but apparently no emergency is too great to miss eggs. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm not going to go into much detail about the specifics of the cases in order to protect client information, so here's the basic background to give you an idea as to what's happening with property rights in Cambodia. A lot of land was converted to government property, specifically military property, after the KR regime ended in 1979. Many farmers, having no actual title to the land, have nonetheless been working plots of land, many for over 20 years. (The saying among rural populations is, "He who works it, owns it.") The military, however, has had this habit of gifting those same plots of land to their favorite officers (again, no title, no documentation). So now officers and farmers both try to claim the land, each trying to prove that they are the rightful owner; very difficult, without any title or records of transfer. The land isn't always given just to officers; wealthy business owners or people who are politically connected can very easily find a sympathetic court who will find that yes, indeed, they are the true owners of land on which they've never lived. It's really intense, because if we lose these cases countless families will have absolutely no where to go. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The disputes can turn violent, as we saw with the first client. During breakfast (the 2nd), we received a call saying that the client was being threatened by men with guns saying that she needed to leave the land immediately. We jumped in the car to drive out to her. I kept sizing up the lawyers and law students in the car, hoping that at least one of them knew some sort of kickboxing/karate/James Bond skills. We all looked like we'd be more comfortable behind a desk with an Excel spreadsheet instead of in a cage fight. It was time to start worrying. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Luckily, when we arrived the client happily told us that she stood her ground, and the men ran off when she said she had lawyers coming. We ended up walking the land (Plater students!) to see the crops that the officers had destroyed (hence more flip flop destruction). The lawyer talked about the upcoming case with the client, and we were back on the road.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">That evening for dinner, they took us to what I can only describe as The Melting Pot for the Cambodian countryside. We all sat around a gas hot plate, ordered beers (the two main brands in Cambodia are Anchor and Angkor...we aren't sure why the marketing departments felt it would be a great idea for the only two main brands to be separated by two letters), and then had plate upon plate of uncooked things brought out to the table. We had some trustworthy, identifiable items like dark leafy greens, rice, and chicken, but some of the other items...well...led to conversations like this:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Leah (sifting through soup bowl): I see some spinach, and some mushrooms, and hmm. What's this white rubbery piece with the crisscross pattern? I've never seen this before.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Lawyer: Cow stomach.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Leah (flipping the stomach back into the bowl): Ah.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We made it through the dinner, stomachs and all.</div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-78457106405795631142011-06-15T01:48:00.000-07:002011-06-15T01:48:09.166-07:00I'm going to have to burn my flip flops.<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Which is sad, because my little navy-and-white troopers have made it through many years of travel. I can still see a smudge of paint on the strap of the right shoe left from a volunteer project in Belize. They're broken in at all the right places. So why do I need to send them to flip flop heaven? Read on...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Last week started off pretty innocuously. Bridgette, Leah, and I went to meet the landlady of the apartment Bridgette and I will be renting starting in July. I LOVE my landlady; she's so hilarious with her delivery, and had us all cracking up the entire night. She's Cambodian, but was raised and attended school mostly in the U.S. She's back in Cambodia now, helping with the administration side of the next Khmer Rouge trial that starts up at the end of June. There's a total of four trials for the top KR leaders scheduled, and we're now on the second trial. The trials are happening at the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC), which is a hybrid tribunal made up of a mixture of international and Cambodian judges and lawyers. I'll post more information about the trials in a separate post. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We ended up talking to her for a long time, because she's worked for the UN for the last 30 years in various departments, so she had some amazing stories to tell (my favorite of which were her stories about the alternative energy and environmental protection branch). We didn't get to see the apartment because someone else is living there right now and it was late at night, but we discussed the details of the lease and other bits of business. She also told us a little about the place:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Landlady: I had a French designer from Paris do the planning, and he had a very modern concept of the building. Very strict lines, all white. His idea was that life energy is supposed to flow from room-to-room, so there originally weren't any doors in the apartment.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Us: No doors? Like, the bedroom...or the bathroom? All open? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Landlady: Yes. I'm not sure, I think he thought everyone should walk around French and glamourous and naked all the time. The girl who's living there now couldn't stand it, so we put swinging wooden doors up on the bathroom. But it kind of ruins the image, so if you guys don't mind we can take them back down.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Us: WE NEED BATHROOM DOORS. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The next morning, Leah and I met with the Land Law division to discuss a funding proposal to the EU that we'll be working on over the summer. They suggested that we would better understand what was going on with the land disputes if we took a trip out to the provinces. Sure, of course, why not? So the next day at 6:30 a.m., I found myself sitting in the back of a Toyota Camry with Leah and Bridgette, driving off to the Battambang province with one of the attorneys and administrative managers.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The only thing I knew about Battambang before embarking on this trip was that Maddox Jolie-Pitt of Brangelina fame hails from there. It's about a 5-hour drive from Phnom Penh; normally not a big deal for me (especially after the plane trip to eternity and back), but on this particular morning I was suffering from what the interns have now come to lovingly call Doxy Belly. Battambang being a safe haven for my winged arch-nemesis and the fever-inducing parasites they carry (see previous post), I decided to play it safe and try to follow my anti-malarial medication instructions perfectly. Unlike the previous weeks where I've just been popping the pills whenever I happened to remember, on the Battambang morning I poured carefully over the instructions in a way that would make any pharmacist proud. The bottle told me to take it on an empty stomach and not eat anything for an hour, which is exactly what I did. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The dry-heaving took about, and this is a generous estimate, 23 seconds to start. My anti-malarial, Doxycycline, has a lovely upset stomach side effect that apparently, and I learned this the hard way, is much worse if you take it on a COMPLETELY empty stomach versus just waiting a couple of hours after breakfast. I sat swaying in the back seat, mumbling something about my melting stomach lining, aching for some food to make the nausea go away. We finally stopped, and had a breakfast of warm noodles and broth with green tea. I instantly felt better. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">On the road again, we drove for several uneventful hours, passing huge rice fields, lakes, and now and then a small town. As we made our way out of one of the towns, a police barricade was set up, for, what we later found, was for absolutely no other reason but to hassle random cars for bribes to pass. Unfortunately, our car caught the attention of the police, so we were asked to pull to the side of the road while our driver's license and registration was checked. There we sat, watching car after car fly by, as the cop tried to hassle him about the documents. The administrative assistant, not overly bothered by this situation, used this as an opportunity to slide out of the passenger's side door, saunter over to a nearby bush, and relieve himself. By the time he made it back to the car, the driver had handed over some cash to the officer, causing the "document check" to instantly cease and our road trip to resume. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">At this point, I realized that I also needed to go to the bathroom. I knew that this was going to be an issue, since there really wasn't anywhere to stop until we reached Battambang, but I was reaching an emergency state (all that damn green tea at breakfast...). We searched and searched for a gas station, but none could be found. Finally, we pulled over at a small local restaurant. I knew two things when I saw this: 1) that there would be no toilet paper, and 2) that it would be an eastern toilet, and I had stupidly worn trousers. I was right on both counts. I half limped, half ran into the bathroom. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I stared at the toilet. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It stared at me. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Or rather, it stared UP at me, from it's very, very low position on the ground. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In Malawi, I had no trouble with these. But now I'm old, and my muscles have atrophied. There's no motivation to do more leg exercises than to know that the only thing standing between you and the puddles of poor aim on the floor are your very weak, flabby legs that keep shaking in an untrustworthy manner. My poor flip flops slid around a few times, but luckily I made it out alive. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">We arrived safely in Battambang, the second-biggest city in Cambodia, and checked into our hotel. Our work would really begin the next day, with our client visits. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Until the next post!</div></div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-77761152068241895962011-06-13T00:38:00.000-07:002011-06-13T03:10:36.467-07:00Monkey Attack!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Sunday, I decided to spend the morning at Wat Phnom. Built in 1373, it's on a small hill and is the tallest temple in the city. According to legend (and to the clay figurines that depicted the story in the museum underneath the temple in a stations-of-the-cross-esque exhibit), a wealthy woman named Daun Penh found a large koki tree floating in the river. She told other people to wade in and pull the tree on shore (a girl after my own heart; always delegating hard labor); when they cut the tree open, they found four bronze statutes of Buddha. Lady Penh made a small shrine to the statues, which eventually became a sacred site for people to pray. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today, a park where families bring their kids to play surrounds the wat. It also has tons of merchants, many of who sell small birds that you're supposed to release at the top of the wat for good luck. I felt really bad for the birds, because they cram about 50 in a cage meant for, at most, 3, and they're all losing their feathers from rough living conditions and stress. I paid for one to be released, even through I'm sure it'll be captured again in the same day, but I don't think I'll be the recipient of the good luck since I made the merchant release it on my behalf. He kept trying to thrust the bird in my hand, but visions of a horrific avian flu death flew through my head, so I politely declined. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As it got closer to noon I began to melt in the humidity, so I decided to do one last climb to the top before hailing a tuk tuk to go back to the guesthouse. I was lost in my own thoughts, focusing on the steep staircase leading to the top of the wat. When I reached the crest of the hill, I looked up for the first time during my climb. Suddenly, to my right I saw a tan and white blur barrel toward me. At first glance, I thought it was a small child, but after a second look I realized it was a monkey. This wasn't some cute little creature that could ride around on your shoulders, doing tricks for your friends in return for banana chips. This guy was BIG, about as large as a hefty small dog, but he moved much faster than any dog I've ever met. His pink, wrinkled face and people hands gave an altogether disturbing picture, especially when he was galloping straight for my lower body. I let out some sort of primal yelp, something like, "YEHAAAOOO!!", which surprised both the monkey and me long enough to stop us both in our tracks. I turned around to run back down the stairs, only to find his monkey friend running at me from the other side.</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This being the closest thing I'd ever experienced to a gang attack in my life, I started to panic. I clutched my bookbag and camera, because I'd been told that sometimes they like to snatch your belongings, and thought that the only thing that would make this experience more embarrassing would be if it turned into a monkey mugging. I took off back down the staircase, leaving the monkeys and more than a few laughing Cambodians in my wake.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the bottom of the hill, I noticed that there were more monkeys strolling around the park benches where people were relaxing. Feeling a little more comfortable, I took out my camera to snap some pictures of one particularly lazy one who was lolling under a woman's feet. After I finished, I turned to put the camera back in my bag. In that instant, the monkey decided to dart across the sidewalk and leap onto the bench beside me, causing me to yet again let out a sad scream and stumble off the seat. This was again entertaining for everyone around me; the monkey, however, looked unimpressed and eventually found a bag of juice under a trash can that held his interest more than I did. He grabbed the bag, climbed a tree, and proceeded to recline between two branches, sipping it like it was a cocktail. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here are a few pics of my trip to Wat Phnom, and the nature show that ensued:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Clay figurines depicting the history of Phnom Penh:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmpcoB7CtqSs6SDc2p6s2xQldQ0gv3N63remJYqlS5l9beGiYYQDQMrpGiai1_ex2nXu7SoAtQS1KVCbEpoQL66qb5VbOgNiBhpYmPfcaAIxMxRhYrRZ1S6vL2DoTkRygnDrmzOJWkEUdz/s1600/IMG_0990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmpcoB7CtqSs6SDc2p6s2xQldQ0gv3N63remJYqlS5l9beGiYYQDQMrpGiai1_ex2nXu7SoAtQS1KVCbEpoQL66qb5VbOgNiBhpYmPfcaAIxMxRhYrRZ1S6vL2DoTkRygnDrmzOJWkEUdz/s320/IMG_0990.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Nrx_FoZ_zvxc5KiLNyqP5siI_cy2s132Ua7AwOdP5siTKgWX3oMdJYzIomu8yIiT6KgRRBs609XPqm4_-wcpa1mpPorHtSivnrkpGBDe2F2xyThTbm6PLgbq_qoqHYmNpKH_WiMxnedt/s1600/IMG_0991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Nrx_FoZ_zvxc5KiLNyqP5siI_cy2s132Ua7AwOdP5siTKgWX3oMdJYzIomu8yIiT6KgRRBs609XPqm4_-wcpa1mpPorHtSivnrkpGBDe2F2xyThTbm6PLgbq_qoqHYmNpKH_WiMxnedt/s320/IMG_0991.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA3blO8V59nc4pHYj5Y73mvFxEme8qzvku6o2GENtuYnQp2J9yjelxgc4xh94It5baGO2v_amHNt1jTulddEFaRll1fqFj60uF4NAdkx_GrEDWXTMOMeJdbXQGkylnZNJqI9V7X3s9eKi2/s1600/IMG_0992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA3blO8V59nc4pHYj5Y73mvFxEme8qzvku6o2GENtuYnQp2J9yjelxgc4xh94It5baGO2v_amHNt1jTulddEFaRll1fqFj60uF4NAdkx_GrEDWXTMOMeJdbXQGkylnZNJqI9V7X3s9eKi2/s320/IMG_0992.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">The explanation of the scene on display, which says, among other things, "small children from 7 year olds who always were sent them to monk for literature and calculation learning by their parent." I don't know about kids in ancient Cambodia, but I hated it when my parents sent me for calculation learning.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEjPVBFK7cpJ7-2kdqN_DwEpLLfNd5QB_PY87G_irE89ekb6OrZJUCWMr2yR81F_U-gr2MjUXrRwBFYLHk1izqOgZ6A6TNslHQMxX9HpwCxtTsbAr1oweb1ahKfsEaoIgHO8hD9rehp6F/s1600/IMG_0989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEjPVBFK7cpJ7-2kdqN_DwEpLLfNd5QB_PY87G_irE89ekb6OrZJUCWMr2yR81F_U-gr2MjUXrRwBFYLHk1izqOgZ6A6TNslHQMxX9HpwCxtTsbAr1oweb1ahKfsEaoIgHO8hD9rehp6F/s320/IMG_0989.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Portrait of Lady Penh:</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Entrance to Wat Phnom:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">View from the top:</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Monkey business...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Sad elephant roped up for tourist rides :(</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Tuk Tuk (I'll get a better picture soon):</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Random pictures from the ride back to the guesthouse:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-71684126495931133322011-06-12T21:03:00.000-07:002011-06-12T21:04:50.771-07:00"Pleased to meet you, my name is Death."I've been out traveling in the villages for some time, so I haven't had access to a computer to update you guys on life in my corner of the world. I'm back in Phnom Penh, so I'll have some more posts coming.<br />
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</div><div>The Friday before last, I had a chance to meet some of the other interns. There are two law students from Canada, two from NY, and one from Michigan. It's been great to have other American and Canadian students around to help navigate issues like living situations, food, tuk tuk prices, and how to handle trips to the provinces to meet with clients (more on that later). One of the interns also handed me a cell phone, so now I can stay connected with the other students.</div><div><br />
</div><div>While going through introductions with the staff, I noticed that a lot of people were having trouble pronouncing my name. I decided to shorten it to the more user-friendly "Ali", which seemed to go over well. I was discussing the name change with my office mate, Jacob, who's one of the students from Canada. He said he tried to do the same thing with his name during one of the group trips to the rural provences, which culminated in the following conversation and a rather unfortunate nickname:</div><div><br />
</div><div>Jacob: Hi, my name is Jake.</div><div>Client (mishearing): Chet?! Your name is Chet?!?!</div><div>Lawyers (dissolving in laughter): "Chet" means "death" in Vietnamese. Your name is Death!!</div><div>Jacob: No, I don't...I didn't say...</div><div>Everyone: YOUR NAME IS CHET!!</div><div><br />
</div><div>From that point on, the lawyers introduced Jacob to every client as "Death", which was always met with uncontrollable belly laughs. At least it's a way to break the ice with clients, although we both agreed that it might be a little uncomfortable to hear that Death is coming to visit you for the afternoon. </div><div><br />
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</div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-91316913441568197002011-06-06T09:13:00.000-07:002011-06-06T09:13:32.244-07:00It says "Lawyer" on my door. Guess I don't have to go back to school in August.On my third day, I had my first day at work. The office is on the outskirts of the city, so it's a 15 minute drive without traffic, 30 minutes during rush hour. I take a tuk tuk to work, which is essentially a motorcycle with a golf cart attached. It's the coolest (literally) way to see the city, as it combines the open-air rush of a motorcycle with the stability of a car (well, a car-like thing). The only problem is that I'm swallowing enough exhaust smoke each day that my lungs now probably look like they belong to a Charles Dickens factory worker.<br />
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The drivers here are INSANE. Think about this: the majority of the population is under 30 years old. All of these people are driving. It's like an entire road system made up of reckless teenage drivers high on the thrill of getting their licenses, with no middle-aged people around to tell the whippersnappers to slow down. There are more motorcycles than cars, and they weave in and out of traffic in a manner that makes it look like they're writing cursive with their wheels.<br />
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When I arrived at work, I met the head of the legal aid group. He showed me around the office, and introduced me to the different clinics. We have four specialized areas of practice in addition to a general legal aid office: the women's law program, land law, juvenile justice, and a program focusing on settling civil cases for victims of the Khmer Rouge. The second of four big trials of KR leaders is going to start at the end of the month, so hopefully the interns will get to attend parts of the trial. I'm going to be splitting my time between juvenile justice and land law, although I'll also get the chance to sit in on the other programs from time to time. I'm really excited about my assignment, because the land law program is dealing with a lot of environmental issues and property disputes, especially illegal logging happening in the north, which means I'll get to visit some of the provinces later in the summer. With juvenile justice, there's no established juvenile court here; if you get arrested for something (most commonly, petty theft, which has a sentence from anywhere between 6 months to 15 years depending on the judge), you're thrown into adult prison. We're going to be working with kids so that they know their rights in the courtroom. There's also a program designed to combat child abuse, educating parents that there are other ways to discipline and letting kids know that they have legal protection against abuse.<br />
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They showed me to my office, which I'll be sharing with a couple other interns. It says "Lawyer" on the door, which makes it really difficult for me to remember that I haven't really passed the bar, interviewed a client, or even watched enough episodes of Law&Order for me to be considered an attorney. I was the only one there on my first day, so I spent some time familiarizing myself with the legal system, and catching up on Cambodian history since 1975 so I'll understand more of what's happening with the Khmer Rouge trial.<br />
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Some pictures of my office:<br />
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This poster caught my attention. It says: "Only the senior Khmer Rouge leaders and those most responsible for committing serious crimes will be tried. Ordinary KR soldiers have nothing to fear."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZgc-w-Ruuzla2WV4KtY34Re34YHkbaYPNJJ6JQxCjQN-LQrjX34kd7DpXpn1bn7a-TBZLvJA0Csk7o6dvLF3cw0vGQ1TMPdemt2RpfFbYCrMHoaf5cui98_UiPvfk43WCX3G8USclXfFM/s1600/IMG_0921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZgc-w-Ruuzla2WV4KtY34Re34YHkbaYPNJJ6JQxCjQN-LQrjX34kd7DpXpn1bn7a-TBZLvJA0Csk7o6dvLF3cw0vGQ1TMPdemt2RpfFbYCrMHoaf5cui98_UiPvfk43WCX3G8USclXfFM/s320/IMG_0921.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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In the evening, I tried one of the most famous Cambodian dishes. It's called amok, and it's fish cooked in curry with coconut over rice. I'm not a fan of coconut, but I definitely wanted to try it since it's such a staple dish here. The fish and the curry sauce come in a bowl beside a pile of white rice, so you get to control how much to put on. A little definitely goes a long way; I only scooped a few spoonfuls of the sauce onto my rice, and it was almost overpowering with flavor. It's pretty good, but you have to be ready for a really intense, distinct taste.aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-72128106635140554682011-06-05T07:42:00.000-07:002011-06-05T08:00:05.953-07:00Enemy, Thy Name is Mosquito<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So I know the last post left many of you wondering what, exactly, I ended up doing about the scary cankles situation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBvXCQ1OdcpBCR7QHguTgRdnBqlbtmCX1M1kalVCKwi__dvbL3AVLcqYpYfWL0Tqr-GaTiTdy_DBOUye6jIvGsGufkGrX-xeFRzBWMiq1NgmbqQacHEESbP5BwH7e0iksZuopTTiZU9d1U/s1600/IMG_0875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBvXCQ1OdcpBCR7QHguTgRdnBqlbtmCX1M1kalVCKwi__dvbL3AVLcqYpYfWL0Tqr-GaTiTdy_DBOUye6jIvGsGufkGrX-xeFRzBWMiq1NgmbqQacHEESbP5BwH7e0iksZuopTTiZU9d1U/s320/IMG_0875.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Right before falling asleep for my 12-hr nap on the first day, I got online and googled swollen legs after flight". You know what comes back? Lots of "get to a doctor right away" and "you will die" websites. Back home, my friends have had to monitor my exposure to WebMD because each time I read it, some variation of the following conversation tends to happen:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Me: Well, it looks like I have, now don't freak out, but I think I have some form of the plague.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Patient Friend: You don't have the plague.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Me: But my eyes are scratchy. I think they're bleeding.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Patient Friend: That's an eyelash. Stop it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But here, no one was around to hold me back. I scanned through page after page showing scary swollen pictures of what legs look like when someone develops deep vein thrombosis (DVT). Each site detailed how blood clots were forming in my legs from sitting still too long, and how a clot could break off and cause a heart attack or stroke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So there I sat, alone with my DVT Wikipedia page (always my most trusted doctor), wondering what to do. I saw that it was typically treated with anticoags, so I made a deal with myself to take some aspirin, sleep for the night, and if they still looked bad the next day I would go to the clinic. Luckily, when I got up for breakfast in the morning everything was back to normal. Crisis #1 averted. Well done, body. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">All of this, by the way, was happening at midnight Phnom Penh time. There's an 11-hr difference between here and home, and I did not handle it well at all. I woke up ravenous, and snacked on some protein bars while I watched the sun come up, inch by inch. At 6:30 a.m., I bolted downstairs for the hotel complimentary breakfast. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Many of you have been asking what the guesthouse is like. I'm staying at the Frangipani Villa 60's, which is a villa that was built in the 1960's and has since been converted into a guesthouse with 7 rooms. Like most of the hotels and guesthouses in the downtown area, the villa is separated from the road by a wall and gate. The roads can be dusty, load, and crowded with motorcycles and cars, which is why its so startling each time I walk through the gate and see a quiet garden that acts as our dining room. They've planted trees and flowers </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">everywhere</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">, so that when I look up all I see are leaves and sunshine. They have a small open-air bar to the right of the gate, and 5 tables. There isn't a traditional front desk, as they've used all the building space as rooms, so we check in and out, leave our laundry or keys, and get tourist information at the bar. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Here are a couple of pics of my room:</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLKCTtvT11-nvPvQUTmy81nLxmmWl-iXvIGSKcyhUCyjRlfBzIThOwLi9S9iKeIyY0BgSTgs0ZwpnMaYutbl3_cCFp872UFqGZXt2FHQDRdX7B5GPFcpcJAEsZmmF3-6Q7YppLIL1dZ-lQ/s1600/IMG_0914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLKCTtvT11-nvPvQUTmy81nLxmmWl-iXvIGSKcyhUCyjRlfBzIThOwLi9S9iKeIyY0BgSTgs0ZwpnMaYutbl3_cCFp872UFqGZXt2FHQDRdX7B5GPFcpcJAEsZmmF3-6Q7YppLIL1dZ-lQ/s320/IMG_0914.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOVFOf6aN9zZYW0SNHz8kImpQRJdi2rPi1Lf9jQB2iHkzoS5uTcLyg8z6Ua-mipT5BHNCQBqW8UNWl04tNvRgVILBRCH9UnpGzWgfmWJXVicAPOAWkIOJfgHuHD4WruG7AnUMA8Ge4ZBD/s1600/IMG_0916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOVFOf6aN9zZYW0SNHz8kImpQRJdi2rPi1Lf9jQB2iHkzoS5uTcLyg8z6Ua-mipT5BHNCQBqW8UNWl04tNvRgVILBRCH9UnpGzWgfmWJXVicAPOAWkIOJfgHuHD4WruG7AnUMA8Ge4ZBD/s320/IMG_0916.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">There's a really helpful guidebook in my room. It has recommendations of stuff to do in the city, as well as an explanation of the history of the guesthouse. It's completely Khmer-run, and hires from local neighborhoods. There's a lot of students who work here, so they give time off to let staff members study for exams. There's a big emphasis on conservation at the guesthouse; lights and AC need to be turned off when not in use, shampoo bottles are refilled instead of replaced, etc. The breakfast food is bought locally, but it's a western breakfast of eggs and toast with cooked tomatoes on the side and always, always a fresh fruit platter that, to my delight, has pieces cut into different shapes :). I eat outside, and always early, because by 8:00 a.m. it's already hot and muggy. The first day I made the mistake of going to breakfast without bug spray, and within minutes had 7 bug bites. As soon as I noticed them, I ran, arms flailing, up to my room to drench myself in Deet and choke down my anti-malarial. I can already tell that my 3 bottles of bug spray won't last, especially when I start traveling out to more rural areas with the legal aid foundation and I'll be outside for more hours. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I started my first day in the city with a tour of the Royal Palace, where King Norodom Sihamoni lives. His private chambers are closed to the public, but the majority of the buildings are open to tourists. When we got inside the gate, there was a huge Khmer Riang Phnom tree, which is a sacred tree in Cambodia because it's believed that Buddha was born under one. It has beautiful flowers that only bloom for a day. Pregnant women drink water with the blossoms because it's believed to bring good health to the baby. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZv5ettTGfemZUHCabFzJXK_c14OkVy4Ef7vQt3_aUR_nYM2VFlYDrT5FS08TTWvjzK0kLVJ60hfFo6jFdwi0XwodTWEy3t9zlMyKysRmy6dPXOssDjZ6xvufxt2jbknSwS7jLySpf_hM/s1600/IMG_0877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZv5ettTGfemZUHCabFzJXK_c14OkVy4Ef7vQt3_aUR_nYM2VFlYDrT5FS08TTWvjzK0kLVJ60hfFo6jFdwi0XwodTWEy3t9zlMyKysRmy6dPXOssDjZ6xvufxt2jbknSwS7jLySpf_hM/s320/IMG_0877.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY06PxBEIsCM71a991lBfr9bpG2A2yxzKz5V0GAkYAXKASSlUPY-rsHLdrVMQHdVMQ7T5XuPndlWpGweD_Wdn9htJg6eT3aTfjIlW3RlbkrvUwoKZJKtR1enWq4iqrA2VMyKsjpaAXFj9x/s1600/IMG_0878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY06PxBEIsCM71a991lBfr9bpG2A2yxzKz5V0GAkYAXKASSlUPY-rsHLdrVMQHdVMQ7T5XuPndlWpGweD_Wdn9htJg6eT3aTfjIlW3RlbkrvUwoKZJKtR1enWq4iqrA2VMyKsjpaAXFj9x/s320/IMG_0878.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Next we walked through the throne hall, where I was able to see where the coronation ceremonies take place. The outside of the building is made up of 4 main colors: white and yellow, representing the two major religions in Cambodia (Hinduism and Buddhism, respectively); green, symbolizing the color of the forests in the countryside; and blue, the official color of the royal family. Inside the building, there are life-sized statues of every king and queen to ever rule. I got to see the throne, on which the king on sits one time, during his coronation. After that, he moves to a chair right in front of the throne. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXLBsZbjt8Jt_wbLB9wZSINe1108abB-cTrcfZagSHA0U7L1N-H-yCc5uX9whAQXmZcjJiobhv6rPDT-6o5KzzJsbxXdbGTGXod7m-PjvntA1vidTmwZ7hFYq068A7gm6T3UQkLyqX-Bu/s1600/IMG_0880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXLBsZbjt8Jt_wbLB9wZSINe1108abB-cTrcfZagSHA0U7L1N-H-yCc5uX9whAQXmZcjJiobhv6rPDT-6o5KzzJsbxXdbGTGXod7m-PjvntA1vidTmwZ7hFYq068A7gm6T3UQkLyqX-Bu/s320/IMG_0880.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVYNsVYUelLdHqd7DsFJeOHmsw-OyRZ2ldr35GpMYg3YvQZjDwN9oa6yAcDRaTX_Gbe3L65mqFDS9mEvtZ2Wj_mFrAP7e2SZuFwGlGg9SpaOvCbudNO1r07HOq6mbhS_q99WS6ckfr9Ng/s1600/IMG_0881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVYNsVYUelLdHqd7DsFJeOHmsw-OyRZ2ldr35GpMYg3YvQZjDwN9oa6yAcDRaTX_Gbe3L65mqFDS9mEvtZ2Wj_mFrAP7e2SZuFwGlGg9SpaOvCbudNO1r07HOq6mbhS_q99WS6ckfr9Ng/s320/IMG_0881.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vQpoPah8tYTcKu-QMouHo0jI6wmKQfkeclN3pIQETbNf0pAlipJVfTxEFVOvRva7aNqO6L47e9gza4j40oZtFp4dc8eVkmucB65BPJSmNEAKc-GrNVX-pTV1TNDdBxSbRU0T0zawvpV2/s1600/IMG_0882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vQpoPah8tYTcKu-QMouHo0jI6wmKQfkeclN3pIQETbNf0pAlipJVfTxEFVOvRva7aNqO6L47e9gza4j40oZtFp4dc8eVkmucB65BPJSmNEAKc-GrNVX-pTV1TNDdBxSbRU0T0zawvpV2/s320/IMG_0882.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We then walked next door to the Silver Pagoda, which functions as the royal temple. It has marble pillars surrounding it that were given as a gift from Italy, and it gets its name from the flooring, which is made up of over 5,000 silver tiles. Inside, there are hundreds of Buddha statues, including an emerald Buddha and a life-sized gold Buddha with over 9,000 diamonds, including one that's 25 karats. Many of the smaller statues (rows upon rows of them, many of which are about the size of a paperweight) are gifts from the people to the king or queen, usually on their birthdays. There were people praying inside, and it's still an active wat (Buddhist temple). <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Rh8W2qTi1MaYDCZ-EWX0aDQPTkfiip7Wl9OVUBJJL1xFgM2aJrkABbbMnjB5BeNtghG_hKZRkfGEKl3Ff1N83KyQcm8hwEjpmQoqL9QSP88IUSf0m_9VlzWeCUyEjZqLNhHKZPXNtyEO/s1600/IMG_0891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Rh8W2qTi1MaYDCZ-EWX0aDQPTkfiip7Wl9OVUBJJL1xFgM2aJrkABbbMnjB5BeNtghG_hKZRkfGEKl3Ff1N83KyQcm8hwEjpmQoqL9QSP88IUSf0m_9VlzWeCUyEjZqLNhHKZPXNtyEO/s320/IMG_0891.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Some other pictures from the Royal Palace:</span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> </o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwbrI7qvV48bYBBUcA8wD3QlQAuyT-JuDDA5VusbdSdLTkM2yz-Lu7vxUlPsRoLHbLTbEMtg8_Qi0DB3bEgrPJDSqri0ZCgZhfpD7gcZHkBAi-GRLTxy0urrZPogDBINrxhEFepHuS7Qi/s1600/IMG_0888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwbrI7qvV48bYBBUcA8wD3QlQAuyT-JuDDA5VusbdSdLTkM2yz-Lu7vxUlPsRoLHbLTbEMtg8_Qi0DB3bEgrPJDSqri0ZCgZhfpD7gcZHkBAi-GRLTxy0urrZPogDBINrxhEFepHuS7Qi/s320/IMG_0888.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Court servants wear color-coded uniforms, based on the days of the week. Sunday starts with red, Saturday finishes with deep purple.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqwP8AR45iWhDwKrHFIFAgmP5UfQqVAcCs_J8JJ5e2uYG0DOJPRiqWu1Rvs5U5p4T7_wipOSU1NFgMUlj-FmD6vOs1Y6YYnT_BmqbxQu9hs8O2yZdPpXq4NkKM4BEakOWi_Koa0Sv2GO0K/s1600/IMG_0895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqwP8AR45iWhDwKrHFIFAgmP5UfQqVAcCs_J8JJ5e2uYG0DOJPRiqWu1Rvs5U5p4T7_wipOSU1NFgMUlj-FmD6vOs1Y6YYnT_BmqbxQu9hs8O2yZdPpXq4NkKM4BEakOWi_Koa0Sv2GO0K/s320/IMG_0895.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Water lilies</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIndnKmKuC4lhrkNBo66nQ5eQbU8NWGtT8QEoxPbZwbznvqrdVfDiU3eKrLfdE0cs2YPrNPtvjDNJX3-uJJA2MnExxFVfRdlIm_XvTaZCTl1twtQIoyrqbn-7lNjStKIytWIs8H35Mjcwj/s1600/IMG_0896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIndnKmKuC4lhrkNBo66nQ5eQbU8NWGtT8QEoxPbZwbznvqrdVfDiU3eKrLfdE0cs2YPrNPtvjDNJX3-uJJA2MnExxFVfRdlIm_XvTaZCTl1twtQIoyrqbn-7lNjStKIytWIs8H35Mjcwj/s320/IMG_0896.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Funeral tower for the cremated remains of a king. Each king gets his own, so there are several towers around the grounds.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv78gPOptcI_Tn0l7RSa2rsVFdmDkDkEDQ0ig_Pov2leNL8c111Kx-rL14loyZEOKPbROg3hSvL8NgT60WaY-s3vrkDk1kw0Ty0Re5jRoDi4s22N6LjvqTZTmbnbABEu_3j9snrudoVjFa/s1600/IMG_0898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv78gPOptcI_Tn0l7RSa2rsVFdmDkDkEDQ0ig_Pov2leNL8c111Kx-rL14loyZEOKPbROg3hSvL8NgT60WaY-s3vrkDk1kw0Ty0Re5jRoDi4s22N6LjvqTZTmbnbABEu_3j9snrudoVjFa/s320/IMG_0898.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YGw_vP4_iDe7t6QI2xNdbzoZf3bscNkNGymBgMVOM5nw5ThaqYnMTBamuiw4iq_mvXqELHPnAOmmA1epbpjAJHSDIB498gmT5bFPk97VP7vrkFRT_EXfwvLCls7OF4tUVeVCzDAqyZRZ/s1600/IMG_0902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YGw_vP4_iDe7t6QI2xNdbzoZf3bscNkNGymBgMVOM5nw5ThaqYnMTBamuiw4iq_mvXqELHPnAOmmA1epbpjAJHSDIB498gmT5bFPk97VP7vrkFRT_EXfwvLCls7OF4tUVeVCzDAqyZRZ/s320/IMG_0902.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDzwbLHfkPjDnoI1gHOyHvYYdn_OcRIZE55Q8kL1NKktXYbwP7qdZ1cCjfuul-sfPyJaNqT6yOQHVlmILfq7lW7KcGtD5loZQvommregX8vsc7Q0vLMNJPfX3zs-0NycA6ZW_zRP54cPD/s1600/IMG_0905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDzwbLHfkPjDnoI1gHOyHvYYdn_OcRIZE55Q8kL1NKktXYbwP7qdZ1cCjfuul-sfPyJaNqT6yOQHVlmILfq7lW7KcGtD5loZQvommregX8vsc7Q0vLMNJPfX3zs-0NycA6ZW_zRP54cPD/s320/IMG_0905.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">After the Royal Palace, I went up the road about 3 blocks to visit the National Museum. There's a beautiful garden in the center of the museum, which can be seen from any part of the museum (there's no AC, so they keep the windows and doors leading to the garden open at all times). The museum mostly has statues of Buddha, Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. The most impressive was a partially reconstructed statue of Vishnu sleeping; it was hundreds (maybe thousands...I can't remember the date) years old, and was found by a farmer who had a dream that Buddha came to him and asked to be released from the soil. He went out to his field and started digging, but instead of finding Buddha he found the Vishnu statue. They have the head, upper torso, and arm displayed in the front hall, and it towered over me. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Note to lawyers and law students reading this: it was embedded! Ratione soli!</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">National Museum: </span></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nWkh25gsJ0ezGeeYN7zjqzWeQeyOyGzP6pMFJ95X1TGxs34WAUnFdNxLfBBTkdVaFElMGHmWpMg2rBdYSZBW_WZPI505gNIQ4ewPtDelL3JlhNOkopnVttHkWFG-uLwbSd-SEWpgOKje/s1600/IMG_0910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nWkh25gsJ0ezGeeYN7zjqzWeQeyOyGzP6pMFJ95X1TGxs34WAUnFdNxLfBBTkdVaFElMGHmWpMg2rBdYSZBW_WZPI505gNIQ4ewPtDelL3JlhNOkopnVttHkWFG-uLwbSd-SEWpgOKje/s320/IMG_0910.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I wrapped up the day at a French Khmer fusion restaurant called Le Wok next to the museum. I can't even describe how much I loved the food there. I had a penne chicken and spinach dish with feta (REAL FETA, Katerina, not the crumbled stuff :) ). I followed up with honey and strawberry homemade ice cream. Oh...and a Coke. They've got real Coke here, with real sugar instead of HFCS, so I'm ordering it all over the place. I was the only American in the place; every other table had French tourists and expats. I tried to listen in to see if I could pick up anything from my 2 years of classes in undergrad, but apparently I've got the conversational level of a fern. And not even a fern that lives in a French house. I'm the fern that lives in an American house with Muzzy commercials on loop. </span></span></div>aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6761399038535834220.post-35496886406499546642011-06-01T23:30:00.000-07:002011-06-01T23:30:36.664-07:00So that's what flying through half the world's time zones feels like...Hey everyone! I'm going to keep up a blog while I'm working for the summer in Cambodia, so feel free to check in for updates and pictures of my life in Phnom Penh.<br />
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Katerina, Dimitri, Sean, Steve, and Sonia were nice enough to see me off at Logan on Sunday. I was late for the flight, so I only had a few seconds to say goodbye, but it was so cool to have my close Bostonian friends see me off for the first of four flights. I also got to see Arielle, in a whirlwind breakfast/last suitcase drop off. I'm really looking forward to this experience, but I also know I can't wait to see them again in August.<br />
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So first flight. I took JetBlue from Boston to JFK, and absolutely loved it! This was my first time flying with them, and I was super impressed. Usually when I'm doing a Boston to NYC flight, the attendant will get on the intercom and give the "Due to the short duration of this flight..." speech regarding why I can't get a soda and some pretzels. Not JetBlue! The attendant was super fast, going around not once but twice with snack selections. Awesome :). Plus, the woman at the check-in desk was joking with me about my trip, and the pilot and flight attendants actually looked like they wanted to be at work. I think I'm going to use JetBlue for all of my trips to VA from now on.<br />
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Next came six hours in JFK, which included getting lost on their monorail. Twice. I switched to Delta, where they informed me that my luggage was 13lbs overweight, and I would therefore incur a charge. I didn't think this was a problem; usually it's what, $30, $50 at most? Try $150. FOR 13 LBS. That's not even a small child! That's my bookbag on a con law class day! Moral of the story, check the weight limits and penalties before flying.<br />
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The next leg of the trip was from JFK to San Francisco. This one was BY FAR the worst of the flights, mostly because I got to spend the next 6 hours on the plane from hell. (Actually, 6 and a half; we had to sit on the runway for 30 minutes waiting for other planes to take off. They kept turning the air on and off. It really was exactly like the 30 Rock episode, complete with my stomach growling for turkey wraps.) What made it even worse was the family sitting behind me; there were two young girls, who by the end of the flight we all knew were named Cecilia and Sophie based on the number of times the mother gave them ridiculous compliments ("Sophie, you did a great job buckling your seat belt!", "Cecilia, I'm so proud that when I said to name animals that start with the letter B, you were clever enough to think of a bear!"), which contrasted starkly with the multiple times she snapped at them, whining that they were being unreasonable ("Believe me, I want your Jungle Book DVD to start working too! I never get some piece and quiet! Cecilia, stop kicking the seat! Sit down. SIT DOWN.") Cecilia kicked my seat for the entire flight. Just think about that for a minute. The. Entire. Flight.<br />
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Their dad was across the aisle, and it was startling to hear the way the mom talked to him. At one point he asked if she had any snacks in her bag, and she venomously shot back that she couldn't get any time to herself. If he asked what time it was, she would snap that she wasn't a clock. It was if all the sugary sweetness she used on the kids was spent, and the only things left for him were terse, sarcastic comments and disgusted sighs whenever he tried to start a conversation.<br />
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We finally pulled into SFO, and I raced out of the airplane, eager to relax during my hour layover before I boarded my longest flight from San Francisco to Taipei. At this point, I was switching from Delta to China Airlines. When I arrived at security and handed over my e-ticket and passport, the officer informed me that China Airlines wanted an actual ticket, not the e-pass provided by the Delta kiosk back in JFK. I ran to their ticket counter, where a long line of passengers snaking up and down the roped rows waited while 5 agents called each passenger forward so that they could weigh our carry-ons. Having been burned with my checked luggage earlier in the day, I began pulling out heavy items like my laptop and hiding them in my giant purse so my bookbag would make weight (they weren't weighing purses). I passed with flying (ha!) colors.<br />
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The repeat check-in cost me my entire hour (I was the last person in the line), so by the time I made it through security and got to the gate they were already boarding 1st class. I got onto the plane, and instantly had a flashback to my first international flight from Washington to London in 1999. I think this was the same plane. There was a projector at the front of my section that played No Strings Attached, and then two kid action movies. I slept through all of them. This was a much quieter flight, which I appreciated. The China Airlines flight attendants were super strict; the guy beside me wanted to lift the window shade and look out for a bit, but because they try to simulate nighttime during long flights, the flight attendant told him immediately to shut it (this happened 3 different times). For dinner I had a chicken-esque thing on top of rice wrapped in foil. For breakfast, I got to choose between eggs and sausage and Chinese soup and noodles. I took the former on this flight, and went with the noodles on my last leg to Cambodia.<br />
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I ended up talking to an elderly man sitting beside me during the last 2 hours of the flight. He was from Vietnam, now living in Dallas, TX. He came to the US in the 70's and originally lived in Philadelphia. When he talked about Philly, his nose wrinkled and a look of disgust came over his face. He said he was definitely happier in Texas. I asked him if he was visiting his family, and he said that he received a call from his relatives saying that his mother was dying and that he needed to fly home immediately. He said in such a matter-of-fact manner, it startled me. I told him I was sorry, and he just shrugged and said that as people get older this is what happens.<br />
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I got off at Taipei, and again only had about an hour to make it through security and on to my gate. I had a terrible headache that started during the last 30 minutes of my flight, and was looking for a store selling Advil (or the Taiwanese equivalent) but couldn't find one anywhere. Instead, I found myself passing multiple high-end stores. It would have been easier for me to get a Gucci purse or Prada shoes than for me to find some over-the-counter medication. I settled for a water fountain that talked to me (I'm not sure what it said, but it sounded super happy) as I filled up my plastic travel bottle, thinking that hydration would stop the unbearable throbbing.<br />
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At this point in the journey, I looked like the Swamp Thing's hygienically-challenged little sister. I was actually going to do a photo of myself as I made it through each part of the trip, but as a public service to society those shots were abandoned. Let's just say that I tried dry shampoo for the first time, and got to feel first-hand why it didn't catch on as a toiletry sensation. I had dark circles under my eyes, and was covered in a thick layer of human cough/sniffles/sneezes accumulated through 3 flights of recirculated air. When I sat down next to other passengers waiting to board the flight to Phnom Penh, I think I saw several of them recoil in fear. I contemplated embracing my new role completely by bursting into "The Music of the Night" from Phantom, but the headache stopped my musical ambitions.<br />
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I stumbled onto the last plane, which was pretty empty. This was welcome news, especially since the last two flights were booked to the top. I moved to my own row, and whimpered to the flight attendant that I needed some medicine for my headache. She said it was against China Airlines policy to give medication without a doctor's note. I was too tired to fight, so I just collapsed across my three seats, trying to sleep.<br />
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It was at this point that I noticed my legs. I recalled that they had felt funny after the last flight, but I had just written it off as a result of sitting still for 13 hours. When I glanced down at my ankles, I realized that they had swollen to the size of softballs. My calves were HUGE, and my feet were spilling out over the sides of my shoes. The skin looked shiny and tight, like water balloons about to burst. I wouldn't realize the full extent of what was happening until I got to the hotel.<br />
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I made it through customs at the Phnom Penh airport, where I encountered my only rude person so far. The guy checking my passport shouted for me to go, because apparently I didn't understand when he was finished checking my papers. I walked over to pick up my luggage, and was startled to see armed guards everywhere. I know that they're part of the security checkpoint, but it was still a rough welcoming committee.<br />
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A representative from the hotel came to pick me up. He had my name on a sheet of paper, so it was really easy to find him. He grabbed my luggage, and took me straight to the hotel. On the way, I had my first exposure to Cambodian traffic (more on that later). I entered the hotel, where they had mango juice waiting on me. I filled out some paperwork, went up to my room, and gratefully fell asleep for 12 hours.<br />
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End of Day 1.aliesjechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01235621395790797009noreply@blogger.com2