It had been a while since I've done something unusual in Phnom Penh, so a few Saturday's ago, Shanti and I joined a number of friends on a little adventure. We went to Madame Cindy's, a gay friendly bar that features a drag show on Saturday nights. While Thailand has a large, thriving, and openly gay community, homosexuality is still taboo in Cambodia, so I was a little surprised that such a thing even existed.
I'd been to a few drag shows in Boston - one of straight dancing and singing and the other a drag musical - and I've spent a bit of time in Provincetown, so I had an idea of what to expect. The bar was pretty chic, with a handful of tables, some on the ground in the traditional Khmer style, and a small bar next to a stage with glittery curtains. The drinks were ridiculously expensive for Cambodia - $3 for a soda - but since there was no cover charge, I felt obligated to get something.
The bar slowly filled in with a mix of young Khmers and a few older expats. Then Madame Cindy showed up, a tall, incredibly slender Khmer man with a tattoo on his left arm and wearing a white dress with black polka dots, high heels, and long, elegant black gloves. He (she?) posed for a few pictures with admirers and then went backstage to help the other performers prepare.
The show was short - thirty minutes - and, well, lackluster. About ten Khmer men in drag performed half a dozen songs. For all but one of the songs, there was no dancing! I was shocked! And this was particularly disappointing as there was no actual singing! And, no offense to the performers, but the lip-syncing was terrible! I can understand that there is a language barrier and not all of the performers can speak English, they could at least mask their language skills with some dancing.
The highlight of the performance was most certainly the outfits. With garments Cambodia's main export, buying fabric and getting clothes custom-made for next to no cost. As a result, most of the skirts, dresses, and blouses that the performers wore were quite beautiful. There was one exception - an absolutely dreadful performance by a guy wearing a ridiculously leopard-print outfit and, for some inexplicable reason, was outfitted in blackface.
All criticisms aside, it was good to look around the room and to see all of the young (probably gay?) Khmer teenagers and twenty-somethings. They were probably not out of the closet to their families, but with Madame Cindy's they have a safe place to meet other people like them and an outlet for discussing the issues they face. It was fun, but I would probably suggest waiting a few years for the show to improve before going yourself
Monday, December 8, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Vietnam, Sort Of: Part II
With our short, scattered time in Saigon over, we set off for the airport to go to Phu Quoc. It was the quietest, least bustling airport I've ever been to. It was remarkably stress free; there were no long lines, no one was in a hurry, and we were easily able to get on an earlier flight. It was a short forty-five minute flight to Phu Quoc and a very enjoyable one at that.
Flying over the Mekong Delta was incredibly impressive, especially at the end of the rainy season; all of the land was covered with a thin layer of water. There were no roads as far as the eye could see and the only huts lined banks of small rivers. Clearly the only way to get from one place to another was by boat. The other thing that made the flight enjoyable (and that makes every flight in Asia enjoyable) is that despite the flight's incredibly short duration, the flight attendants managed to serve everyone a drink. American-based airlines could really take a lesson from those operating out of Asia.
We arrived in Phu Quoc, grabbed our stuff and were met by a throng of taxis, each of which wanted nearly $10 to drive us to the destination of our choice. Having consulted the trusty Lonely Planet, we knew that town was a short 200 meter walk away and that the resorts began shortly after that. So we hoofed it. Motos and taxis tried to pick us up (for even more inflated fares), but we shook them off more as a matter of principle than anything else.
We passed through Duong Dong, the main town on Phu Quoc and still the hotels and guesthouses were not in sight. By the time that we had been walking for about an hour, we had only passed the first few hotels, each of which were more expensive than we wanted. Shanti and I convinced her parents, who were now carting wheelies over dirt road, that we would go ahead, find a place to stay, and pick them up. The two of us stopped in about five hotels and resorts with little luck. We wandered into a new and air-conditioned travel agent's office and the friendly young woman began calling around.
Forty-five minutes later we were picked up by a van from Kim Hoa Resort. We picked up Shanti's parents and made our way to the hotel which was still a few kilometers further down the road than we had made it. Thanks Lonely Planet! The resort itself looked pretty nice, but the driveway and beach were all lined with somewhat bizarre over-sized plaster sea-faring animals, like crabs, lobsters, fish, and mermaids. It was certainly a sight to be seen.
Eager to finally hit the beach, we dropped our stuff off and grabbed a quick lunch at the restaurant. We then spent the afternoon relaxing on the beach. We were on the southern end of Long Beach, which was less crowded than other stretches, though nothing was very crowded. The water was quite nice and I've always loved when there's a gentle slope out to sea and, as you move forward, you can feel the ridges of sand formed by the waves. So it was a well-spent afternoon of reading, swimming, and napping.
As the afternoon turned into evening, the sun turned a bright red color and the sky followed suit, with reds, yellows, oranges, and blues creating a truly breathtaking sight. The photographer in me had to leave the dice game we were playing every few minutes to snap another picture. With the sun down, we grabbed dinner at the hotel, a little over-priced but the grilled prawns in tamarind sauce were particularly delicious. Before going to bed, we booked a combination snorkeling, fishing trip for the next day.
The following morning we were picked up by a van filled with about ten other tourists and made the drive down to the southern tip of Phu Quoc, the fishing village of An Thoi. The drive was beautiful, following Long Beach south for several kilometers, with occasional fishing huts dotting the landscape. The An Thoi port was crowded with wooden fishing boats, some outfitted with huge sets of bright lights, presumably for squid fishing.
We had an extremely slow boat ride out to some of the more distant An Thoi islands. Several of the islands had sizable fishing villages located on the coast, but the rest of the island looked fairly uninhabitable. We finally made it out to the fishing grounds and spent about an hour fishing with just a line wrapped around some plastic. Somehow, the captain was catching fish left and right, but no one else was catching anything. By the time we finished, Shanti's dad and I managed to catch one small fish each.
We then gave snorkeling a try, but the water was not all that clear and the tide was strong. The snorkeling was a bit better at the second stop, but it didn't compare to Pulau Perhentian, where I had been just six weeks earlier. We had fresh fish on board for lunch and we all got to try freshly caught sea urchin: a bit salty, but not bad with a squeeze of lime. After lunch we headed back to shore and took the van to Sao Beach, a gorgeous beach, with the finest, whitest sand I've ever seen. We spent a little time relaxing and swimming there before heading back to Kim Hoa for sunset, which was almost as beautiful as the night before.
On our last day on Phu Quoc, we did some more relaxing, reading, and swimming. Shanti, her mom, and I took a long walk down the beach around lunch time to look for a place to satisfy Shanti's Italian food craving. We managed to find a place with very good food, but, as one might expect, the Italian was a bit subpar. More relaxing in the afternoon and another game of dice as we were lucky enough to have a third gorgeous sunset. Expanding our horizons from the Kim Hoa restaurant a bit, we wandered down the beach to grab another delicious dinner.
We left early the next morning for the airport to catch our flights back to Saigon and then, for me and Shanti to Phnom Penh. On the whole, the trip was very relaxing - which I certainly needed some of - but I don't think I got quite as much of a cultural taste of Vietnam as I was hoping for. All the more reason for a return trip!
Flying over the Mekong Delta was incredibly impressive, especially at the end of the rainy season; all of the land was covered with a thin layer of water. There were no roads as far as the eye could see and the only huts lined banks of small rivers. Clearly the only way to get from one place to another was by boat. The other thing that made the flight enjoyable (and that makes every flight in Asia enjoyable) is that despite the flight's incredibly short duration, the flight attendants managed to serve everyone a drink. American-based airlines could really take a lesson from those operating out of Asia.
We arrived in Phu Quoc, grabbed our stuff and were met by a throng of taxis, each of which wanted nearly $10 to drive us to the destination of our choice. Having consulted the trusty Lonely Planet, we knew that town was a short 200 meter walk away and that the resorts began shortly after that. So we hoofed it. Motos and taxis tried to pick us up (for even more inflated fares), but we shook them off more as a matter of principle than anything else.
We passed through Duong Dong, the main town on Phu Quoc and still the hotels and guesthouses were not in sight. By the time that we had been walking for about an hour, we had only passed the first few hotels, each of which were more expensive than we wanted. Shanti and I convinced her parents, who were now carting wheelies over dirt road, that we would go ahead, find a place to stay, and pick them up. The two of us stopped in about five hotels and resorts with little luck. We wandered into a new and air-conditioned travel agent's office and the friendly young woman began calling around.
Forty-five minutes later we were picked up by a van from Kim Hoa Resort. We picked up Shanti's parents and made our way to the hotel which was still a few kilometers further down the road than we had made it. Thanks Lonely Planet! The resort itself looked pretty nice, but the driveway and beach were all lined with somewhat bizarre over-sized plaster sea-faring animals, like crabs, lobsters, fish, and mermaids. It was certainly a sight to be seen.
Eager to finally hit the beach, we dropped our stuff off and grabbed a quick lunch at the restaurant. We then spent the afternoon relaxing on the beach. We were on the southern end of Long Beach, which was less crowded than other stretches, though nothing was very crowded. The water was quite nice and I've always loved when there's a gentle slope out to sea and, as you move forward, you can feel the ridges of sand formed by the waves. So it was a well-spent afternoon of reading, swimming, and napping.
As the afternoon turned into evening, the sun turned a bright red color and the sky followed suit, with reds, yellows, oranges, and blues creating a truly breathtaking sight. The photographer in me had to leave the dice game we were playing every few minutes to snap another picture. With the sun down, we grabbed dinner at the hotel, a little over-priced but the grilled prawns in tamarind sauce were particularly delicious. Before going to bed, we booked a combination snorkeling, fishing trip for the next day.
The following morning we were picked up by a van filled with about ten other tourists and made the drive down to the southern tip of Phu Quoc, the fishing village of An Thoi. The drive was beautiful, following Long Beach south for several kilometers, with occasional fishing huts dotting the landscape. The An Thoi port was crowded with wooden fishing boats, some outfitted with huge sets of bright lights, presumably for squid fishing.
We had an extremely slow boat ride out to some of the more distant An Thoi islands. Several of the islands had sizable fishing villages located on the coast, but the rest of the island looked fairly uninhabitable. We finally made it out to the fishing grounds and spent about an hour fishing with just a line wrapped around some plastic. Somehow, the captain was catching fish left and right, but no one else was catching anything. By the time we finished, Shanti's dad and I managed to catch one small fish each.
We then gave snorkeling a try, but the water was not all that clear and the tide was strong. The snorkeling was a bit better at the second stop, but it didn't compare to Pulau Perhentian, where I had been just six weeks earlier. We had fresh fish on board for lunch and we all got to try freshly caught sea urchin: a bit salty, but not bad with a squeeze of lime. After lunch we headed back to shore and took the van to Sao Beach, a gorgeous beach, with the finest, whitest sand I've ever seen. We spent a little time relaxing and swimming there before heading back to Kim Hoa for sunset, which was almost as beautiful as the night before.
On our last day on Phu Quoc, we did some more relaxing, reading, and swimming. Shanti, her mom, and I took a long walk down the beach around lunch time to look for a place to satisfy Shanti's Italian food craving. We managed to find a place with very good food, but, as one might expect, the Italian was a bit subpar. More relaxing in the afternoon and another game of dice as we were lucky enough to have a third gorgeous sunset. Expanding our horizons from the Kim Hoa restaurant a bit, we wandered down the beach to grab another delicious dinner.
We left early the next morning for the airport to catch our flights back to Saigon and then, for me and Shanti to Phnom Penh. On the whole, the trip was very relaxing - which I certainly needed some of - but I don't think I got quite as much of a cultural taste of Vietnam as I was hoping for. All the more reason for a return trip!
Monday, December 1, 2008
Vietnam, Sort Of: Part I
The morning after the free ride we enjoyed from His Excellency, we set off for Vietnam. Saigon, now known as Ho Chi Minh City, our initial destination, was a mere six-hour bus ride from Phnom Penh. The ride was largely uneventful. Once we crossed the border, however, I noticed a number of subtle differences from Cambodia. First, and most obviously, the road was nicer and traffic laws appeared to be adhered to. Everyone riding motorbikes wore a helmet. Even in rural Vietnam, most houses had TV antennas. In actuality, we didn't pass through too many "rural" areas. Shortly after crossing the border, we were essentially in the massive and sprawling suburbs of Saigon.
We were dropped off in the backpacker area of town and wandered down the street until we found a decent-looking guesthouse. We climbed a few flights of stairs and threw down our things. From above a fairly major intersection, we had a good view of a jumbled mass of electric and telephone wires as well as the activity below - dozens of motorbikes, cars, cyclos, food vendors, tourists, etc.
Back outside, we looked for a spot to grab a snack settling on an Italian place down the street. Afterwards we wandered in to a travel agency to book flights to either Dalat, a cool mountain retreat in south-central Vietnam, or to Cat Tien, an isolated marine national park off the southeast coast. All flights were sold out for the times we were looking for. We regrouped, tried another travel agent, and thought about going to Hue, Hoi An, or Danang (between the two), in central Vietnam. Either the flights were completely booked or we could only get a ticket for one leg of the trip. We were shocked! We regrouped again and settled on Phu Quoc, an island off the southwest coast of Vietnam and actually much closer to Cambodia than Vietnam (it's visible from both Kep and Kampot).
After a quick stop at the guesthouse, we headed for The Rex, a high-end hotel with a roof-top veranda, for a drink. We walked through rush hour to get there - a sea of motorbikes packing the streets and making any street crossing a real-life game of Frogger. Along the way, we passed a bustling market, stopping in to look around. There was a beautiful array of silks and an impressive stock of Vietnamese coffee amidst more touristy knick-knacks.
The Rex was a thoroughly worthwhile stop. The drinks were pricey - about the same as the U.S. - but worth it for the combination of their strength and the atmosphere. Spending an hour in the gardened veranda was simply a wonderful way to spend a bit of time at twilight and debate politics (which we did). Pretending like we were staying at The Rex, we asked the concierge for a dinner recommendation. It was just a short walk away in a very fancy part of town; the street were lined with the stores of top designers like Gucci, Prada, Armani, etc.
The setting for the restaurant was quite fancy, but with live traditional music and a view of the street below, the ambiance was enjoyable. I, however, was unable to enjoy either the ambiance or the food. The dumplings I snacked on at the Italian restaurant made me violently ill during dinner, relieving me of my appetite and quite a bit more. What's a trip to a new southeast Asian country without some stomach problems though? Back at the guesthouse, and with the irritant seemingly out of my system, I felt much better. Exhausted, I crashed hard.
We woke early in the morning and, with my appetite back in full, grabbed a delicious breakfast at a small food stall outside the guesthouse - flat white noodles with tofu, bean sprouts, crunchy fried onions and a twist of lime. From breakfast it was off to the airport to see just what Phu Quoc was all about.
We were dropped off in the backpacker area of town and wandered down the street until we found a decent-looking guesthouse. We climbed a few flights of stairs and threw down our things. From above a fairly major intersection, we had a good view of a jumbled mass of electric and telephone wires as well as the activity below - dozens of motorbikes, cars, cyclos, food vendors, tourists, etc.
Back outside, we looked for a spot to grab a snack settling on an Italian place down the street. Afterwards we wandered in to a travel agency to book flights to either Dalat, a cool mountain retreat in south-central Vietnam, or to Cat Tien, an isolated marine national park off the southeast coast. All flights were sold out for the times we were looking for. We regrouped, tried another travel agent, and thought about going to Hue, Hoi An, or Danang (between the two), in central Vietnam. Either the flights were completely booked or we could only get a ticket for one leg of the trip. We were shocked! We regrouped again and settled on Phu Quoc, an island off the southwest coast of Vietnam and actually much closer to Cambodia than Vietnam (it's visible from both Kep and Kampot).
After a quick stop at the guesthouse, we headed for The Rex, a high-end hotel with a roof-top veranda, for a drink. We walked through rush hour to get there - a sea of motorbikes packing the streets and making any street crossing a real-life game of Frogger. Along the way, we passed a bustling market, stopping in to look around. There was a beautiful array of silks and an impressive stock of Vietnamese coffee amidst more touristy knick-knacks.
The Rex was a thoroughly worthwhile stop. The drinks were pricey - about the same as the U.S. - but worth it for the combination of their strength and the atmosphere. Spending an hour in the gardened veranda was simply a wonderful way to spend a bit of time at twilight and debate politics (which we did). Pretending like we were staying at The Rex, we asked the concierge for a dinner recommendation. It was just a short walk away in a very fancy part of town; the street were lined with the stores of top designers like Gucci, Prada, Armani, etc.
The setting for the restaurant was quite fancy, but with live traditional music and a view of the street below, the ambiance was enjoyable. I, however, was unable to enjoy either the ambiance or the food. The dumplings I snacked on at the Italian restaurant made me violently ill during dinner, relieving me of my appetite and quite a bit more. What's a trip to a new southeast Asian country without some stomach problems though? Back at the guesthouse, and with the irritant seemingly out of my system, I felt much better. Exhausted, I crashed hard.
We woke early in the morning and, with my appetite back in full, grabbed a delicious breakfast at a small food stall outside the guesthouse - flat white noodles with tofu, bean sprouts, crunchy fried onions and a twist of lime. From breakfast it was off to the airport to see just what Phu Quoc was all about.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Come on and Take a Free Ride
For Water Festival, we headed for the foreign visitors tent, much like last year. It was clearly much better-advertised than last year, however, as the tent was practically full of tour groups wearing matching shirts and the steps in front of the tent, which were empty last year, were packed with foreigners. I won't repeat the details of the boat races or the atmosphere - they were largely the same as our first trip to Bon Om Tuk.
Once the boat races ended, we were again treated to a wonderful display of "floats." Over a dozen boats were outfitted with the emblems of various Cambodian ministries in elaborate and hulking displays of light. After the sun set, the floats headed upriver as fireworks went off behind them. It is at this time of day that the Water Festival is at its busiest - most of the villages that flock to Phnom Penh have seen plenty of boats, but few have seen a true fireworks display or anything akin to the floats.
Attempting to get from the foreign visitors tent to streets that were not closed to traffic - probably about half a mile - was difficult to say the least. I have never been packed into a crowd so tight in my life. It was exactly the kind of situation that the Embassy or the State Department tells you to avoid when traveling to domestic situations - if a fight were to break out or somebody were to start pushing, several people would have easily been trampled. It was not until later that we realized that people were crowding so tightly to catch a glimpse of the King, who was about to make his way from the VIP tent on the riverfront back to the Royal Palace.
We managed to find our way to Street 184, usually closed to the public, between the Royal Palace and the National Museum. We walked briskly away from the waterfront along with throngs of others. About halfway to Norodom Boulevard, where the road blocks ended, a big black Lexus SUV came up behind us. Even though there are hundreds of such vehicles in Phnom Penh alone, I always try to peer inside to see if it is His Excellency. In this case, I didn't see His Excellency, but I did recognize his driver and handyman. As I waved, he pulled up along side us. What are the odds? Tens of thousands of people walking down the street, hundreds of VIP cars, and we manage to run into His Excellency?
Though the car was mostly full, we squeezed in - me and Shanti's parents in the back with His Excellency's incredibly elegant wife, His Excellency up front, and Shanti and an RCAF officer (a bodyguard for His Excellency?) in the trunk. Though it was a bit cramped, it was definitely the best option in terms of transport; there was certainly not to be any haggling with price gouging tuk-tuk drivers tonight.
Once the boat races ended, we were again treated to a wonderful display of "floats." Over a dozen boats were outfitted with the emblems of various Cambodian ministries in elaborate and hulking displays of light. After the sun set, the floats headed upriver as fireworks went off behind them. It is at this time of day that the Water Festival is at its busiest - most of the villages that flock to Phnom Penh have seen plenty of boats, but few have seen a true fireworks display or anything akin to the floats.
Attempting to get from the foreign visitors tent to streets that were not closed to traffic - probably about half a mile - was difficult to say the least. I have never been packed into a crowd so tight in my life. It was exactly the kind of situation that the Embassy or the State Department tells you to avoid when traveling to domestic situations - if a fight were to break out or somebody were to start pushing, several people would have easily been trampled. It was not until later that we realized that people were crowding so tightly to catch a glimpse of the King, who was about to make his way from the VIP tent on the riverfront back to the Royal Palace.
We managed to find our way to Street 184, usually closed to the public, between the Royal Palace and the National Museum. We walked briskly away from the waterfront along with throngs of others. About halfway to Norodom Boulevard, where the road blocks ended, a big black Lexus SUV came up behind us. Even though there are hundreds of such vehicles in Phnom Penh alone, I always try to peer inside to see if it is His Excellency. In this case, I didn't see His Excellency, but I did recognize his driver and handyman. As I waved, he pulled up along side us. What are the odds? Tens of thousands of people walking down the street, hundreds of VIP cars, and we manage to run into His Excellency?
Though the car was mostly full, we squeezed in - me and Shanti's parents in the back with His Excellency's incredibly elegant wife, His Excellency up front, and Shanti and an RCAF officer (a bodyguard for His Excellency?) in the trunk. Though it was a bit cramped, it was definitely the best option in terms of transport; there was certainly not to be any haggling with price gouging tuk-tuk drivers tonight.
Monday, November 24, 2008
The Reverse Skin Tax
Leaving Memot early the morning after Sarath's wedding, we headed back to Phnom Penh. As Water Festival (Bon Om Tuk) began that afternoon, it was one of the worst possible days to be traveling to Phnom Penh. The population of the city supposedly doubles for the three-day festival from roughly three to six million people, and many of the villagers coming to town were doing so at the same time as us.
An additional concern was that at some point in the day - no one seemed to know for sure when - the bridge across the Tonle Sap would be closed to vehicular traffic. For most of the trip, the traffic wasn't nearly as bad as I was expecting; in fact, we were making really good time. About fifteen kilometers outside of town, however, we came to a dead stop. Over half an hour we moved perhaps a half kilometer. Shortly thereafter, we came to a checkpoint. Several police officers were waving all minivans (the typical, cramped, and overstuffed method for travel) to the side of the road. Apparently, only private vehicles were allowed past this checkpoint and everyone taking minivans or buses had to get out at this point and take either a moto or a tuk-tuk the 15km into town.
As we pulled up to the checkpoint, we were waved to the side of the road. The driver pulled up to one of the police officers and, in Khmer, said that he was transporting foreigners back to Phnom Penh. The officer simply nodded, and waved us down the road in which we were just about the only vehicle with more than two wheels. Just before we got to the Japanese Friendship Bridge across the Tonle Sap we came to another checkpoint. The driver tried the same technique as before, but to no avail. We were directed into a dirt parking lot, from which it was implied we would gather our belongings and walk across the bridge and back in to town.
Clearly all of us preferred to take the van all the way into town to be dropped off at our houses. So one of my coworkers and I (both foreigners) hopped out and, in Khmer, explained to the police officers that we were just coming back from a work trip to the provinces. He asked why we hadn't come back the day before, when the roads were open, to which we replied that we had to work. He seemed to mull this over for a minute, before waving our van over to him. As he did so, he gave us a nod, and we were on our way over the bridge. While crossing, one of my Khmer colleagues said, rather straightforwardly that it was because of us foreigners that we were allowed through both checkpoints. I joking replied simply "you're welcome."
It was a really interesting dynamic though. There is absolutely no way that a van full of Khmers would have been able to convince a police officer to let them through because they were coming back from a business trip. Perhaps if there was a bit of money involved or the driver was well-connected (what well-connected Khmer drives minivans for a living though?) passage would be a possibility. While we all felt a little uncomfortable with the special treatment we were getting, I suppose it was some pay back (pardon the pun) for being charged higher prices at the market, for travel, and other things. It would be much nicer, however, if we were on more level social ground, but it's going to be a long time before anything of that nature happens.
An additional concern was that at some point in the day - no one seemed to know for sure when - the bridge across the Tonle Sap would be closed to vehicular traffic. For most of the trip, the traffic wasn't nearly as bad as I was expecting; in fact, we were making really good time. About fifteen kilometers outside of town, however, we came to a dead stop. Over half an hour we moved perhaps a half kilometer. Shortly thereafter, we came to a checkpoint. Several police officers were waving all minivans (the typical, cramped, and overstuffed method for travel) to the side of the road. Apparently, only private vehicles were allowed past this checkpoint and everyone taking minivans or buses had to get out at this point and take either a moto or a tuk-tuk the 15km into town.
As we pulled up to the checkpoint, we were waved to the side of the road. The driver pulled up to one of the police officers and, in Khmer, said that he was transporting foreigners back to Phnom Penh. The officer simply nodded, and waved us down the road in which we were just about the only vehicle with more than two wheels. Just before we got to the Japanese Friendship Bridge across the Tonle Sap we came to another checkpoint. The driver tried the same technique as before, but to no avail. We were directed into a dirt parking lot, from which it was implied we would gather our belongings and walk across the bridge and back in to town.
Clearly all of us preferred to take the van all the way into town to be dropped off at our houses. So one of my coworkers and I (both foreigners) hopped out and, in Khmer, explained to the police officers that we were just coming back from a work trip to the provinces. He asked why we hadn't come back the day before, when the roads were open, to which we replied that we had to work. He seemed to mull this over for a minute, before waving our van over to him. As he did so, he gave us a nod, and we were on our way over the bridge. While crossing, one of my Khmer colleagues said, rather straightforwardly that it was because of us foreigners that we were allowed through both checkpoints. I joking replied simply "you're welcome."
It was a really interesting dynamic though. There is absolutely no way that a van full of Khmers would have been able to convince a police officer to let them through because they were coming back from a business trip. Perhaps if there was a bit of money involved or the driver was well-connected (what well-connected Khmer drives minivans for a living though?) passage would be a possibility. While we all felt a little uncomfortable with the special treatment we were getting, I suppose it was some pay back (pardon the pun) for being charged higher prices at the market, for travel, and other things. It would be much nicer, however, if we were on more level social ground, but it's going to be a long time before anything of that nature happens.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A Village Wedding
The morning after dancing the night away at Vuth and Cina's wedding, we woke relatively early to celebrate Cambodia's 55th Independence Day, a rather communist style parade featuring tens of thousands of civil servants and floats from various ministries and the military. Early on Monday morning, Shanti and I and Shanti's parents piled into a minivan with about ten of my coworkers to set off for the wedding of one of my coworkers in Memot District, Kampong Cham Province. The four-hour ride was quite pleasant; it was nice to get out of Phnom Penh and see the rice fields at their peak.
We arrived at the bride's house, several kilometers outside of Memot town and right on the national road, just in time for a quick lunch. As with most village weddings, a huge tent containing dozens of tables was set up on the dirt in front of the house. There were relatively few people around - the traditional ceremonies that take place in the morning were over - so we had a quiet lunch and took the minivan into town to settle in to our guesthouse.
We relaxed a bit and then a handful of the foreigners in the group decided to go for a walk about town. The six of us were probably the most foreigners Memot had ever seen and the sight of us was cause for significant commotion. The fruit vendors were quite amused that we could speak a bit of Khmer and the moto drivers were certainly perplexed as to why we were in town. We stumbled upon a small, but interesting archaeological museum covering ancient civilizations in the surrounding area before going back to the guesthouse.
After some more relaxation we got suited up for the wedding and took the van back to the bride's house. Although it was not very crowded, there was a line out front of people waiting to get their pictures taken with Sarath, my coworker, and Kimhuch, his bride, under the archway entrance to the wedding tent. Next to the archway was a typically over-edited photograph of the couple in which they were a ghostly pale (pale skin is highly desirable across Cambodia and much of Asia and is seen as of a higher class than darker skin). Rising up from the entrance was a bamboo pole with two huge megaphones attached, one pointing in each direction the road went. The megaphones blasted music from a live band loud enough for neighbors several kilometers away to hear (another symbol of status is apparently letting as many people as possible know that you or your kin are getting married).
As we posed for pictures with Sarath and Kimhuch, a small gathering of local kids surrounded us, curious at the sight of so many barangs. We were seated at a table with discarded napkins, fish bones and other debris in a ring around the chairs, the typical disposal method for weddings. We were served a meal similar to but not quite as fancy as Vuth and Cina's wedding and were greeted with an endless supply of beer. A crew of several dozen local kids scanned the tables for those finishing their drinks and quickly snatched empty cans from the ground, a $0.03 per can gold mine.
The live band was quite loud and apparently caught the attention of the entire area. By the time it was 7:00, about an hour after we arrived, a crowd of several hundred villagers - not guests, merely onlookers - surrounded the wedding tent. The crowd quickly doubled in size once some of the barangs got up to dance and soon all of us were dancing in the best Khmer style we could, much to the amusement of the locals. It was simply amazing how many non-guests had turned out simply for entertainment. Obviously not too much happens in Memot, but I had to wonder if the crowd size was a standard or if the presence of foreigners had a particular drawing power.
At one point, a little before Sarath and Kimhuch were to make their entrance, a lotus flower fight broke out between some of the barangs and the local kids. Though it seemed as if everyone was having a good time with it, the bride's mother did not look amused. With several more beers in our bellies and another hour of dancing under our belts, we were exhausted. And it was only 8:30pm. Such is life in the provinces - it begins as soon as the sun is up and ends shortly after it goes down. Sarath's wedding was incredibly enjoyable, but in an entirely different way than Vuth and Cina's. It was certainly a unique experience that I will not soon forget.
We arrived at the bride's house, several kilometers outside of Memot town and right on the national road, just in time for a quick lunch. As with most village weddings, a huge tent containing dozens of tables was set up on the dirt in front of the house. There were relatively few people around - the traditional ceremonies that take place in the morning were over - so we had a quiet lunch and took the minivan into town to settle in to our guesthouse.
We relaxed a bit and then a handful of the foreigners in the group decided to go for a walk about town. The six of us were probably the most foreigners Memot had ever seen and the sight of us was cause for significant commotion. The fruit vendors were quite amused that we could speak a bit of Khmer and the moto drivers were certainly perplexed as to why we were in town. We stumbled upon a small, but interesting archaeological museum covering ancient civilizations in the surrounding area before going back to the guesthouse.
After some more relaxation we got suited up for the wedding and took the van back to the bride's house. Although it was not very crowded, there was a line out front of people waiting to get their pictures taken with Sarath, my coworker, and Kimhuch, his bride, under the archway entrance to the wedding tent. Next to the archway was a typically over-edited photograph of the couple in which they were a ghostly pale (pale skin is highly desirable across Cambodia and much of Asia and is seen as of a higher class than darker skin). Rising up from the entrance was a bamboo pole with two huge megaphones attached, one pointing in each direction the road went. The megaphones blasted music from a live band loud enough for neighbors several kilometers away to hear (another symbol of status is apparently letting as many people as possible know that you or your kin are getting married).
As we posed for pictures with Sarath and Kimhuch, a small gathering of local kids surrounded us, curious at the sight of so many barangs. We were seated at a table with discarded napkins, fish bones and other debris in a ring around the chairs, the typical disposal method for weddings. We were served a meal similar to but not quite as fancy as Vuth and Cina's wedding and were greeted with an endless supply of beer. A crew of several dozen local kids scanned the tables for those finishing their drinks and quickly snatched empty cans from the ground, a $0.03 per can gold mine.
The live band was quite loud and apparently caught the attention of the entire area. By the time it was 7:00, about an hour after we arrived, a crowd of several hundred villagers - not guests, merely onlookers - surrounded the wedding tent. The crowd quickly doubled in size once some of the barangs got up to dance and soon all of us were dancing in the best Khmer style we could, much to the amusement of the locals. It was simply amazing how many non-guests had turned out simply for entertainment. Obviously not too much happens in Memot, but I had to wonder if the crowd size was a standard or if the presence of foreigners had a particular drawing power.
At one point, a little before Sarath and Kimhuch were to make their entrance, a lotus flower fight broke out between some of the barangs and the local kids. Though it seemed as if everyone was having a good time with it, the bride's mother did not look amused. With several more beers in our bellies and another hour of dancing under our belts, we were exhausted. And it was only 8:30pm. Such is life in the provinces - it begins as soon as the sun is up and ends shortly after it goes down. Sarath's wedding was incredibly enjoyable, but in an entirely different way than Vuth and Cina's. It was certainly a unique experience that I will not soon forget.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
A Phnom Penh Wedding
Shanti’s parents arrived in Phnom Penh at the beginning of November just in time for a flurry of activity. With the end of the rainy season comes two things: weddings and the Water Festival. Over a period of four days, we had two weddings to attend, including most of the traditional ceremonies for one of them. The first wedding was for Vuth, a friend of mine and one of Shanti’s former co-workers, and Cina, who has been an extremely helpful and reliable travel agent since shortly after we arrived in Phnom Penh.
While I don't want to overplay it, I'd like to think that Shanti and I had a little something in establishing Vuth and Cina's relationship. They knew each other before we arrived and there seemed to be some attraction, but a dinner at our house was one of the first times they had truly spent time together. Shanti and I also enthusiastically coached Vuth on courting Cina. Regardless of the importance of our role, we were excited for the first wedding in which we were friends with both the groom and bride.
The wedding was a typical, if not slightly lavish, Phnom Penh wedding. A large tent was set up in the street in front of Cina’s house on Friday and a few traditional ceremonies (which I was unable to attend, but Shanti and her parents were) were held for family and very close friends. I got off work in time to catch the end of dinner and offer my congratulations to both Vuth and Cina.
Early on Saturday morning the festivities continued with a procession of food and other gifts to Cina’s house; it was definitely the longest wedding procession I had ever seen. Throughout the morning were a number ceremonies in which we had the honor to participate as much of Vuth’s family, from Battambang, was unable to attend the wedding. There was the ribbon-tying ceremony, the hair cutting ceremony, a blessing for ancestors, a blessing from parents, all facilitated by a pushy emcee.
Following an afternoon of relaxation, we reconvened – men in dress pants and a shirt and women in slightly ridiculous silk wedding outfits – at Lucky Star restaurant. The restaurant is in fact a series of banquet halls used primarily for enormous Cambodian weddings. Vuth and Cina’s accommodated approximately 500 people, a relatively common size for urban weddings. After a greeting from Vuth, his groomsmen, and the bridesmaids at the entrance to Building A, we were seated for a typical meal of several courses: first, cashews, spring rolls, fried fish cakes, and other appetizers; second, a kind of crab soup; third, a salad of noodles, seafood, and pomelo (similar to but sweeter than grapefruit); fourth, fish; fifth, rice with chicken; and sixth, a small dessert and fruit.
Throughout the meal a live band played and Vuth and Cina’s friends rose to the stage and sang their favorite songs. There was a lot of fairly raucous dancing, at which Shanti’s mom excelled. I certainly hadn’t ever seen her mom boogie like she did and I think Shanti was equally impressed and amused. This was, in fact, the only thing a bit unusual about the wedding: how lighthearted the evening seemed to be and how happy the guests were. Most weddings are fairly formal affairs in which strict protocols are followed. The singing and dancing and general joyousness at Vuth and Cina’s certainly broke from the norm in this sense. It was, at least for the moment, the most fun I had ever had at a wedding.
While I don't want to overplay it, I'd like to think that Shanti and I had a little something in establishing Vuth and Cina's relationship. They knew each other before we arrived and there seemed to be some attraction, but a dinner at our house was one of the first times they had truly spent time together. Shanti and I also enthusiastically coached Vuth on courting Cina. Regardless of the importance of our role, we were excited for the first wedding in which we were friends with both the groom and bride.
The wedding was a typical, if not slightly lavish, Phnom Penh wedding. A large tent was set up in the street in front of Cina’s house on Friday and a few traditional ceremonies (which I was unable to attend, but Shanti and her parents were) were held for family and very close friends. I got off work in time to catch the end of dinner and offer my congratulations to both Vuth and Cina.
Early on Saturday morning the festivities continued with a procession of food and other gifts to Cina’s house; it was definitely the longest wedding procession I had ever seen. Throughout the morning were a number ceremonies in which we had the honor to participate as much of Vuth’s family, from Battambang, was unable to attend the wedding. There was the ribbon-tying ceremony, the hair cutting ceremony, a blessing for ancestors, a blessing from parents, all facilitated by a pushy emcee.
Following an afternoon of relaxation, we reconvened – men in dress pants and a shirt and women in slightly ridiculous silk wedding outfits – at Lucky Star restaurant. The restaurant is in fact a series of banquet halls used primarily for enormous Cambodian weddings. Vuth and Cina’s accommodated approximately 500 people, a relatively common size for urban weddings. After a greeting from Vuth, his groomsmen, and the bridesmaids at the entrance to Building A, we were seated for a typical meal of several courses: first, cashews, spring rolls, fried fish cakes, and other appetizers; second, a kind of crab soup; third, a salad of noodles, seafood, and pomelo (similar to but sweeter than grapefruit); fourth, fish; fifth, rice with chicken; and sixth, a small dessert and fruit.
Throughout the meal a live band played and Vuth and Cina’s friends rose to the stage and sang their favorite songs. There was a lot of fairly raucous dancing, at which Shanti’s mom excelled. I certainly hadn’t ever seen her mom boogie like she did and I think Shanti was equally impressed and amused. This was, in fact, the only thing a bit unusual about the wedding: how lighthearted the evening seemed to be and how happy the guests were. Most weddings are fairly formal affairs in which strict protocols are followed. The singing and dancing and general joyousness at Vuth and Cina’s certainly broke from the norm in this sense. It was, at least for the moment, the most fun I had ever had at a wedding.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
