That night in Prek
Toal, Osmose arranged for everyone in our group to do the homestays they offer
as part of a package to the tourists who come to their village. About three people per family were dropped off
in a big boat at a number of floating shacks situated right next to each other.
“He he he,” my father poked me, “Bet
you get the house with all the kids.”
“Yeah, dad, very funny. Bet you get the house with all the
crocodiles.”
I and two other women from my father’s team, Irina and Solyka, got off the boat and hopped onto a
plank that lead to the front porch of a comparatively large house...and were
immediately greeted upon entering by four screaming kids. I was mildly irritated, not because I don’t
like kids, but because I don’t like my father’s glee at being right about
anything. ANYTHING. I’m on a personal journey to prove him wrong about
everything. Dad: It’s raining right now.
Me: *eyeroll* No, dad, it’s drizzling.
“HELLOOOOOO!!! HELLLLLOOOOOO!!!!!!!”
The kids shouted. Little hands started determinedly
pushing towards the edge of their front porch, suspiciously in the direction of
their bait farm, a sectioned off area of water, which, according to one of the
proud women housing us, contains 50,000 tiny fish. What was this? A guest initiation right? I’m not much for initiations and I was
definitely not for anything that included ending up in this water. I circumvented out of the grubby, pushy
little hands and the kid squealed and shrieked and started chasing each
other. I wandered inside the house where
it was surprisingly modern and well-kept, given the rather ramshackle outside appearance. It was also obvious that this family was
specifically selected and paid to house tourists; a generous section of the
living room was quartered off and housed four clean floor beds with colorful
sheets lined up neatly side by side, each separated by individual mosquito
netting, giving a small but appreciated illusion of privacy.
Irina, Solyka and I
spent most of our time before bed watching the children wear themselves out. We sat on the front porch, slapping mosquitos
and staying out of the way while they dive bombed each other, wrestled, and played “rock, paper, scissor” in
Khmer. Or as one of the girls insisted, “rock,
paper, SHIT. SHHHHHIIIIITTTT! SHIT SHIT SHIT!”
When the little munchkins got bored, we took pictures of them as they
posed and then showed them the frames, their faces avid in the small glow of
the camera screen. One of the children,
a small girl, had rickets, a bone deformation caused by a lack of Vitamin D. Often this happens during infancy, if the
mother’s milk dries up and there is no good formula alternative. Her shins
curved outwards quite noticeably. This,
I am happy to say, did not stop her from jumping around the house, tackling her
little brother and shouting out the occasional, “SHIT.”
At some point in the
evening, I figured out where the toilet was and was making my way along the
side porch towards the back wash room when I happened to look out over the
railing and froze, for the second time that day, as I stared into the utterly
disinterested, reptilian eye of another huge croc. Once again, only chicken wire and some flimsy
wood planks were separating me from forty or so of the scaled beasts. One roared-THEY ROAR??-and I, again for the second time that day, jumped
theatrically into the air before resuming my walk in what I hoped to be an
unruffled, nonchalant manner. And yes,
crocodiles roar. Like lions. In my case, all night long right next to my
bedroom.
The next morning,
Rick, Alex and I headed out for some last minute exploring, this time in one
boat, propelled by a motor and steered by an appropriately aged man. We saw…
A really cool Watt
The murals depict the story of Buddha. It's amazing to see the interplay of the Hindu and Buddhist religions. Some of the panes and themes seemed very...medieval. |
A floating garden
Garden herbs! |
And lots of friendly
kids!
Everybody headed back
to Siem Reap that afternoon, with nothing remarkable happening except for the
briefly disturbing and invasive event that occurred as we stepped
off our boat and started slip sliding through mud to our bus. A girl walked up to me and handed me a
photo. Of myself. From two days ago. My mind was caught between the polarity of
being creeped out and reconciling that with the innocent, harmless face of the
little girl showing me the photo.
Blessedly, it turned out just to be another harmless way to make a
buck. The locals snap your picture
before you leave without you taking any real notice and then put it in a kitchy
frame and sell it to you when you come back.
My father bought mine. More, I
think, because he didn’t want a random picture of me floating around rural
Cambodia than for sentimental value.
The rest of the crew
went back to Phnom Penh, while my Dad, Rick, Alex and I all stayed in Siem Reap
for a few more days.
We saw…
A reclining Buddha
A thousand
lingas/yonis (can you see the faint outlines in the riverbed?)
A link to more about lingas with a more Hindu orientation: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lingam |
A picture a
self-appointed guide drew of a hard-to-see statue, also on the riverbed
An awesome waterfall
with some great swimming and fun!
And another less traveled
temple complex…
…where I got the
opportunity to wander off a bit on my own and climb the side of the mountain
where I found a secluded spot to chill and take some pictures of the view
We also had a lovely
dinner with a friend of my father’s whose husband gained professional
recognition through his photography of the famous Angkor Watt complex and we
all lamented over wine at the increasing number of tourists swarming the
ancient ruins. I have been to Angkor
Watt many times, my first visit as a child of five, and each time the
surrounding area gets more developed.
Hotels and 7-Elevens sprout up faster than jungle vine and droves of
buses shuttle in tourists from all over.
We decided to forgo our usual Angkor excursion, but if the temples are
something you wish to experience (and I still recommend that you do), then
avoid the crowds and either go early, very early, in the morning or at midday when
everyone sane is basking in a/c.
And that’s that. I spent most of the rest of my time Phnom
Penh; helping my dad, pouting when monsoons got in the way of my allotted pool
hour, and stocking/holing up for the protests that occurred last Saturday. But more about all that later.