Life in Cambodia

Random Stories of Cambodia and Other Tales

Why does the world hate us (i.e. the US)? I have the answer – allow me to enlighten you with the story of the doctor who had the ill-fated luck to be born Algerian and have the unbelieving audacity to volunteer his services in Cambodia. To set the tone, we were all having a Thanksgiving dinner (a damn fine one I must say as well), four Americans, a Haitian-Canadian, a Lebanese, and an Algerian. The Algerian doctor had only been in Cambodia for about 3 weeks or so and was recounting the story of his arrival in the country. Unfortunately, I forget the Algerian doctor’s name, but his story is a sad tale and made us sorry to be Americans. So he gets his Cambodian visa in France and flies out here via Bangkok, only to arrive at the airport in Phnom Penh and be pulled aside once they see his Algerian passport. Discussion ensues amongst the Cambodian customs officials about what to do with him and they decide to bar him entry and send him back to Bangkok. When he asked why, the customs officials said that the American Embassy told them to be on the watch for Arabs and those of Middle East descent coming in Cambodia. So, being deported to Bangkok, where he has no visa, he is arrested and sent to prison. Luckily, en route to prison, he was able to borrow a cell phone and quickly called his office to tell them what happened and where he was. Once in the Bangkok prison, the officials took most of his money (though he had the foresight to hide most of it on his body during the plane ride to Bangkok) and did not allow him to make a phone call or receive any visitors, so there he sat for the next 24 hours. Eventually, his organization was able to spring him from jail, but not before he had to pay off some prison thug who threatened to beat him up. On the way out, he even had to pay the prison authorities for the food he ate and the electricity that lit his cell. He was able to laugh about the story as I guess you’d have to be able to eventually, but if this is what happens to a doctor with an Algerian passport and legitimate visa, I can only imagine what happens to some hapless farmer they picked up in Afghanistan and is now sitting in Guantanamo.

Now, I just want to dispel any lingering myths that we are suffering in Cambodia. Ok, Svay Rieng, is another story, but in Phnom Penh there is no suffering. Last weekend, we met up with a bunch of folks and took a river cruise. The boat, though decrepit, was nonetheless stocked with cold beer, mixed drinks, a whole bunch of crabs being boiled, corn on the cob, and the best sausage I’ve had here – our own little booze cruise. We just floated around drinking beer and eating crabs for the next 3 hours, watching the sun set behind us. We had a radio, playing anything from Hendrix to Buffett and as we cruised near the shoreline, I found myself wondering what a sight we must have been to the Cambodians on shore.

I also want to quickly mention that I found a dead chicken in our yard yesterday evening. Voodoo ritual? Mafia warning? Bird flu? You make the call.

Saturday was “Dessert Day” at the house and a whole bunch of local staff from Maggie's office came over to make Cambodian desserts. All I knew is that we were making some kind of cake. Everyone came over with all their ingredients and we had ourselves a little cooking station in our kitchen. Granted, there were a lot of folks there (6 or so) so we were making desserts aplenty, but I spied with my little eye no less than 3 lbs of sugar going into the mixtures – and no telling how much they slipped past me when I wasn’t looking. The vanilla flavoring came as white powder in little vials and Maggie and I laughed about how it looked like cocaine or crack or definitely something illegal. No doubt the Cambodians couldn’t figure out why we were laughing at the vanilla, much less taking pictures with it. Anyway, the sugar concoctions were mixed, put in little bowls and steamed until they solidified into small cakes. While tasty and sweet they were like rocks in my belly and only after two or three I was already done with them (they probably made something like 50 of these little guys). After regaining my composure, I dove into the madness of the banana pie that I will swear on something you consider holy that it was little more than 20 bananas and a pound of sugar swirled together. In case you haven’t figured it out, the Cambodians like it sweet – anything from sweet coffee to sweet sandwich bread to sweet rice with pork bits (for breakfast – yum!)

That reminds me…..What do crushed up snail shells and cow poop have in common? They are both food! Ok, not exactly food but old village women put them in their mouths, so close enough. You cruise around long enough and you’ll see them rubbing a pink paste onto a leaf, rolling it up and putting it in their mouths, kinda between their lips and gums. In a country were anything is fair game in terms of eating – sometimes you just shouldn’t ask. I also want to mention that we’ve only got these ingredients confirmed from one person, but I believe it. Take little snail shells and crush them up into very small bits and add a little dabble of cow poop. Heat, burn and stir, add a little water and stir until the desired consistency is reached (whatever consistency that may be). Next add the “I don’t know the English word for it” chemical or some sort of traditional ingredient which somehow turns this vile goo pink. Wrap that little tasty nugget in a tobacco leaf small like and pop it in and enjoy. Ugh, this tastes like shit – literally! Is that why those little old ladies all have black teeth?

Maggie and I were foolish enough to go to a concert in Svay Rieng this past weekend. We thought it was going to be a bunch of local yokels, but figured we’d check it out anyway. There were plenty of yokels for sure, but they weren’t in the band, they were in the mob of folks we got caught up in. It was actually a legit concert, stage, lighting, etc being held in the Svay Rieng “stadium” which is nothing more than a big field with a wall around it, with, of course, cows still grazing unaware of the ‘pop-stars’ preparing to perform. So we breezed up with our tickets in hand, ready to go through the gates, only to be met by a throng of people clustered at the entrance. Unbeknownst to Maggie and myself, the group that was playing is apparently “the” group in Cambodia at the moment – a must see event for, I dare say, every man, woman, and child in the province. The gates were locked so people were surging up against them, shaking them, climbing over them until somehow they threw them open and everyone began flooding into the field. This of course was a no-no, since for the thousands of people trying to get in, there was one poor sap collecting tickets. So that’s when Cambodia’s Finest, power tripping police, moved in. Pushing, shoving, threatening, somehow they managed to close the gate and refused to open it again. Of course, for those who had tasted the prospect of entering the open field (devoid of any musicians yet) the idea of being closed out, if only for a minute longer was unforgivable. It became a swelling swirling mass of people and I am confident that I could have picked both my feet up off the ground and just been carried around by the mob. Another attack on the gate and they forced it open so that people could enter one by one. Not being people who put much stock in lines and order, it was a rush. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if small children where trampled – it was madness. Even if they were handing out free tickets to the Super Bowl or Game 7 of the World Series, it wouldn’t compare. Whereas standing in line and filing through, everyone could have gotten in within 20 minutes, it took us 45 and we were fairly close to the front. Everything slowly funneled down to the bottleneck of the gate, like a whirlpool. The closer you got the more dangerous it became. Then, finally squeezing through the hole, it was like “pop” and you came out into the open field. We stood and watched in awe as small children were passed overhead to avoid the crush. The funny part was that we were with some Cambodian folks we know, a friend and his fiancée, and her brothers & sisters. Our friend, figuring he would have better luck on his own, ditches his fiancée in the melee, as well as her 10 year old sister. They wouldn’t get in for nearly another hour. True love, eh? We had a talking about that one. The concert, as we figured, was a wash. Bad lip syncing, unsynchronized dancing, and horrible screeching, high-pitched techno-pop music. We had to leave by a back entrance since the main gate was still impassable with the hordes of people still trying to push their way through and the power-tripping police, still shaking their billy-clubs and the poor guy who was the sole ticket taker, still trying to come up for air…having taken longer to get in than the time we actually stayed, we were happy to ditch out early. Next time we'll rent a mini-van, climb on top and watch the show from a much better and quieter place.

posted by Life in Cambodia @ 2:23 PM