Musings, Motos, and Music

Huh?

There are all sorts of t-shirts available in the markets of Phnom Penh.  Some make less sense than others.  This one was silly enough that I took a photo -- he is a Korean 9th grader in my math class.

The Golden Rule?
Cambodians have a different take on this one.  Their version is closer to, "I do not say anything when you bother me so you should not say anything when I bother you."

Drunk Moto Driver For Hire
A while back I needed to hire a moto (think "moped taxi") to take me to a famous place in Cambodia called Toul Sleng Prison. I thought, "This is a great chance to give some business to that guy I see everyday on my way to school." So, I walked down the street to where he normally loitered (these guys just wait in one spot all day long hoping to catch a fish; not too ambitious). Anyway, I got there just in time to see him finishing peeing on a nearby wall (normal practice). When he came back to his normal fishing hole, I asked him "Toul Sleng?".  "Baat (Yes), Baat (Yes), Toul Sleng."  

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So far all is going according to plan. We begin traveling at roughly 10 mph. The very low speed and impressively strong smell of alcohol conspire to inform me that this gentleman is drunk. The peeing on the wall might have been a clue were it not so normal. Or, maybe everyone doing that is drunk. Hmm. Anyway, this story is getting too long. 

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I decided that at 10 mph it would be hard to get killed (a hypothesis, as you might surmise from the authorship of this story, that was experimentally verified). But, at 10 mph it also takes a very, very long time to find a place that you pretended to know the location of when, in reality, you only have a faint notion -- i.e. I'm pretty sure it is in Phnom Penh. And, it is even more time consuming when your brain is loaded with the active ingredients of fermented products. So, you stop every so often and ask the guy sitting behind you (that is me, in case you are having trouble following), "Toul Sleng?".

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After about 15-20 minutes of riding around slowly having twice dismounted the moto to personally go ask someone less inebriated for directions, and holding up traffic in a stupor-induced indecisiveness ("Toul Sleng?"), I bailed. I paid the guy enough money to stay drunk a while longer and caught a ride with another guy who actually DID know where it was (we were only 1 km) from it at that point. 

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Feel free to come up with your own moral to the story.

Music Is Magic
Question: Why don't we hear more Cambodian pop music in the states?
Answer: We did. In the 1980's thanks to Richard Marx and others.

Question: What is worse than Cambodian pop music?

Short Answer: Cambodian traditional music, which to my ears has no discernible melody. This is not to say it is obnoxious; just imagine gentle sounds that run all over the place and make things feel somewhat hectic.

Long Answer:
If you said Mexican pop music, you are correct. Polkas are musical torture to begin with and when you feature the accordian and sing about an aching corazon, it only adds insult to injury. Modern Cambodian music, on the other hand, sounds like a crooning 1980s vintage ballad with gratuitous guitar solos played way up on the neck, and, thus, is clearly superior, but still impressively bad. Granted, I cannot confirm what they are singing about since I can only speak 20 words of Khmer (12 of which are numbers), but my strong hunch is that it involves "un corazon roto". Ok, back to the original question. Though "Mexican pop music" is a correct answer, there is actually a better answer: KARAOKE of modern Cambodian music. I was forced to listen to this one night a few months ago, as it emanated from a nearby house, and it was painfully bad. The singing woman clearly suffered from chronic tone deafness, but had unfortunately robust lungs and vocal chords and an unfortunate lack of performance anxiety - a perfect storm of sorts.

Soccer, Floaters, and Garbage

I have a readership that rivals that of the Cincinnati Post. Pretty impressive, I know. Well, anyway, a few of my readers have written in and asked if I had a blog clog. Consider the clog cleared. On with the show.


Soccer Tournament:
I was the coach for the HOPE high school soccer team at a tournament this past weekend. Tim, one of my favorite people over here and also the school science teacher, was co-coaching with me. It ended up being a very good experience. It was cool to get to know the kids in a different arena. But our team is way out-classed by the other high schools in the area. We lost all 4 of our games and managed only 1 goal to the competitions' 24 or so. But, our guys did show some chutzpah and a willingness to tough it out even though (1) they are relatively poorly conditioned, (2) seldom get to play together, and (3) it is quite hot over here even this time of year (I would say it is probably comparable to playing soccer in Cincinnati in July).

Floaters:
Floaters are these things that some people like me have inside their eyeballs. They float around and if you look up at a clear blue sky or a white wall you see things; a little hair over there and, wow, how-about-that, a paramecium off to the left. You are tempted to get a better look at them, but as you divert your glance in their direction, they run away. It is really annoying. And, if you do not have floaters then you probably will be thinking I am clinically insane. I *am* insane, but it has never been clinically proven *and* I do have floaters. Oh, but the point here was not to provide an in-depth discussion of the finer points of ophthalmology. It was just to let you know that I have a new floater, placed off to the right in my peripheral vision. Unfortunately, it looks just like a darting mosquito might appear in one's periphery. So, I have been a little more on edge than I need be. Oh, but at my new place, the number of mosquitos I see in a week is probably around 3. At my old place, there were at least 20 on the screen every night (and a small number roaming about).

Garbage (Rated PG-13):
Yes, it is a band. No, I do not know that song by them. But, garbage in Cambodia is collected from assorted piles rather than cans. There is a small, fragrant, fly-haven of trash placed conveniently on my walk to school. That is where I drop off my trash and provide the flies of Cambodia with sustenance. An aside... I did see a dead rat lying on the same walk to school. He was just there on the sidewalk. I think he probably got hit by a vehicle, but there was no blood or tire tread marks. It is possible he ate poison (or Lucky Burger) and made it to that very point before expiring. It is hard to say. He was a rather large rat, by the way, so I think the world is a little bit better place now. I am sure that the flies buzzing around its mouth agree.


I have a variety of other topics of various levels of hilarity and appropriateness to discuss, but need to get this published now. I will add some other stuff later on.

Shotgun Topic-O-Rama

This is a random assortment of musings.  I hope you are 'mused.  If you want to keep it quick, you should skip this first story.

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Gift Exchange

As a teacher, one is prone to complain of the seemingly low effort-to-income ratio.  But this overlooks a key aspect -- and, no, I am not talking about the fact that teachers get 2-3 months off over the summer.  Teachers receive gifts.  It all started with apples and has since progressed to much more elaborate and glorious rewards.  I received two gifts.  This seems pretty lame considering the fact that I teach around 50 different students, but most families at my school are NGOs and missionaries and are not living high on the hog (subtle foreshadowing of the upcoming pig photo).  So, anyway, it is at least understandably lame.  I am told that if I were a teacher in the US or Australia, I would probably receive enough chocolate to last for six months (or, were I a woman, roughly 11 days).  Oh, and my Aussie friend Tim says that he even received some fancy underwear from at least one Korean student -- this is not an inappropriate gesture, mind you, but is quite normal in their culture -- in America, though, such a gesture would get you fired before you even had a chance to try them on (in class).  Back to the original story...  I received two gifts.  The first was from a sweet Swiss girl who gave me some type of fancy French tea.  The second was from an extremely quiet and rather withdrawn 11th grade Korean student.  He had left the gift on my desk and, thankfully, demonstrated the good sense not to get me underwear -- rather, he gave me Pepperidge Farm Chocolate (Dark) Chunk Cookies.  Oh, man, talk about bribery.  I ate one right away and it was awesome (I typically reserve this word for more reverent applications, but even God would recommend use of the word in this case).  Then, I shared one with a fellow American teacher, Carrie, who also appreciated the tastiness.  Later that day, I thanked Hyeon Ok for the cookies and he gave me the universal "I have no clue what you are talking about" look.  I was puzzled.  Nevertheless, I was very grateful for the cookies.  That night I had a flash of insight...  The next morning I fished the wrapping paper out of the classroom trash can and confirmed my suspicion.  The paper said "TO: Hyeon Ok".  I immediately lowered his grade to its rightful level.

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Why Bacon is Not Too Healthy

Given a choice, 4 out of 5 pigs prefer trash.  This guy lives on my street and is always eating slop.

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Now THAT's a MiniVan

There are lots of these microvans over here.  Extrapolating from the observation that most Khmer ("Cambodians") can carry a King-size mattress on the back of their moped (seriously), I have determined that they would be able to transport The Original Mattress Factory on the roof of one of these.

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"Can I Borrow Your Towel..."

...My car just hit a water buffalo."

On the drive to see Angkor Wat, we had an altercation with a water buffalo.  Everyone (including the buffalo, we think) was fine due to the low speed of the collision, but the car was wounded.  It was a rather intense experience, especially for the water buffalo who left some evidence of fear on the front hood.

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Isn't it great that I saw 1000 year old temples, including Angkor Wat, and all you get is a photo of car damage.  I will put a few up of the temple stuff eventually - they are on my brother's camera.  Thanks for reading this far! 

Coins and Standardization

There are no coins in Cambodia.  Instead, there are 100 R to 10,000 R notes, worth 2.5 cents to $2.50.  The upside is that pockets last a little longer (an untested hypothesis at this early stage), but there are downsides:

(1) Very difficult on windy days to determine which team gets to choose its side.  Also, tougher to do some demonstrations of probability if you are a math teacher.

(2) Scratch offs require the use of a paper clip.  I have not turned into an avid Lottery participant, received or wished to receive any iTunes cards, nor are there any McDonald's contests (or restaurants for that matter), but the cell phone cards I purchase every month or so do use the same technology.

(3) You have to find something else to remove the battery on your mac (which is designed to be opened with a coin).  Probably not justification for transitioning to coins... at least not until the King gets a mac.

 

We generally take standardization for granted.  That is until something reminds us how convenient it is.  Like when Walmart started selling 8 x 10.5 paper in the US -- I felt robbed of 19 square inches of freedom because I was, and it just did not look right in my binder along with the handouts and other things printed on normal paper.  And I blame China and Walmart for it, never considering the fact that I am the one shopping at Walmart and buying this paper in the first place.  Oh, but this is not about Walmart or paper, really.  It is about standardization.  And, more specifically, another demonstration of just how great standardization can be until it is ripped from your grasp.  This second illustration comes courtesy of the staff room cupboard at HOPE school where I teach.  There really are this many different sizes of staples in it -- I did not go hunting all over, either.  Every one of these boxes is for a different size.  Crazy.  Granted, in America we probably have like 3 sizes:  Normal, Huge (for stapling books you copied illegally at Kinkos), and Dinky (for those little staplers that overly organized 7th grade girls tend to have).

Saddle Up Partner

Well, you can try to imagine the other things that I had typed below before Safari on my Apple spontaneously quit and my changes were lost (it happened when I was using the online dictionary to look up how to spell pronunciation which I now know as you can see).  Though I think Apple's are a cool computer, I also think they tend to crash much more often than they should for some reason.  The really lame internet connectivity in this country does not help matters.  So, anyway, hopefully you like the photos.  The moral of the story is:  "Take your spelling tests seriously."

I will add comments later, but wanted to get some pics from this past weekend up.  It was a really fun time headed up by Graham, the husband of KC's pre-school teacher and a Kiwi (he is the one with the little blonde-haired boy).

The Vision Olympics

There is no vision olympics at this point in history. And, I need to just accept that there may never be. But, if there was, I have a hunch that I could medal in the 5m Freestyle Peripheral Vision event. The only downside is that it means I sometimes see things out of the corner of my eye that I might have preferred not to. Like today, when I thought I saw something hazy and brown off to my right while I was working at the kitchen table (and, no, aside from really dry steak, I do not consider eating to be work - my table doubles as a cluttered desk). I turned to see a rat in the middle of the floor. That is no good and is the first time I have seen one inside. They are, though, all over the place here. Sorry I have no pics to share.

Snapshots Around Town

It is November 12th and the weather has decided to be amazing -- a definite upshot to living in the tropics or whatever the proper term is for this region (it has been a few years since the 6th grade, but I remembered just enough to eliminate "frozen tundra" from the list of options).


Tennis anyone? I have been an avid fan since I met Boris Becker in high school... The short version is that a few friends and I were walking to the parking lot tram after a day at Kings Island. It was summer around ATP-time (the big pro tourney) and one of my friends said "Hey! That is Boris Becker!". I thought the name sounded familiar, so I turned in the indicated direction. He probably looked tall, but otherwise more normal than expected, though I am not sure since I did not look in time. Still, what an honor to nearly meet such a famous tennis player.


In case you cannot read it (you can click for a larger view), it says "Electronic Mosquito Bat". This device is purpose-built to fry the evil insects and works very well. $3 well spent. You might wonder why I don't just clap them to death -- it sounds easy enough, but the mosquitos here are superbly deft at dodging and hiding, and I do not want them mistaking my attempted murder as encouraging applause.


This prominent landmark is where I keep piles of cash - ANZ Royal Bank. If you are American you would call it "Ay-En-Zee", but if you are from Australia, New Zealand, or England you say "Ay-En-Zedd". And not just to be cool in that way we might substitute "ott" for zero. They actually say the letter Z as "Zedd". Then, to add horror to confusion, I learned that these people of odd accents even sing their ABCs to a different tune. Talk about culture shock.


Fortunately, this is the only place I experience significant hair loss. It costs $0.75-1.00 depending on if I get the master or the apprentice.


Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder would be so pleased. Just about every street you take you will see dogs roaming about.


This is the street my school is on. Some bigger buildings and some shanty-store fronts. And, to add cool color to the scene, the occasional monk will pass by.