Phnom Penh Journal, Issue 3

Friday, July 5 - One of the aftercare workers made the coffee this morning. She called it, "The Poo Poo Coffee." Being culturally sensitive, I did not giggle to myself at this funny coincidence of language, but rather inquired as to what set it apart from regular coffee. It was explained to me that this particular coffee is the increasingly-popular Vietnamese delicacy where coffee beans are fed to weasels, and then collected from the weasel defecation, rinsed, and sold as specially filtered coffee. "Poo Poo Coffee" indeed. That's what I get for being culturally sensitive.

Saturday, July 6 – Independence Day at the foreign embassy. After a week of typical Khmer life and a morning of working on school assignments, it was good to spend some time at an American party. I was struck by the thought that I was officially standing on American soil as soon as I passed through the gates. My joy was made complete when I feasted on Kentucky Fried Chicken and Dairy Queen, and was not altogether spoiled by the heavily-Khmer accented renditions of “American Pie” and “Achy Breaky Heart,” nor the Peace Corps’ decision to sing Katy Perry’s “Firework.”

Sunday, July 7 – Spent the evening in a cool theater watching a dramatization of the true story of a Khmer reporter who suffered under and eventually escaped the Khmer Rouge. It was a sobering experience, but gave me a deeper appreciation for the Khmer people.

Monday, July 8-Tuesday, July 9 – Normal work days, preparing for a trial in the major provincial town of Siem Reap. I had Khmer lunch with the national staff on Monday: sweet soy tempeh, fermented fish paste with green papaya, wine-soaked yeasty rice, salt-cured pork, and tarot root dumplings. Surprisingly, the fish paste and papaya was perhaps the best part.

Wednesday, July 10-Sunday, July 14 – Went to Siem Reap for trial. Trial was delayed, which was awful, but the time was not a total loss. After wrapping up court on Thursday, my boss invited myself and the new legal fellow to have lunch with his extended family. I felt like Indiana Jones, not for the first time that trip, exploring a lost dungeon: there was much treasure to be had, in the form of reclining in hammocks at under the woven grass roof, as well as the culinary pleasures of roasted chicken, sweet cakes of rice and banana wrapped in banana leaves, and tender fish soup, but also booby traps aplenty, since every dish was a murky mix of tasty morsels hidden among scraps of bone, pastes of fermented animal meat, and fruit that smelled like dirty goats. That evening, there was another, much better Khmer dinner.

We spent the rest of the weekend exploring temples. On Friday, we saw the Bayon, a mysterious and unique stone temple adorned by dozens of carved faces, each wearing the five foot granite equivalent of a Mona Lisa smile. At one point, I looked down from the gaze of one of the heads to find myself staring into the gaze of an Aisan tourist’s expensive camera. It took me a minute to remember that simply being white is photograph-worthy here.

On Saturday, we rode in a rickshaw for hours through rice paddies and villages to reach Beng Melea, the real-life version of the “Legends of the Hidden Temple” set.  The ruin is full of crumbling galleries, collapsed towers, and carvings rendered incomplete by looters, all covered in vines, jungle trees, and the moss of several centuries.  The place is only fit for crawling over and realizing childhood fantasies of being a rouge archaeologist and temple raider, which suited us just fine.

On the way back, we realized we were running out of gas when our rickshaw driver stood halfway up on his scooter and began to push off the ground like he was driving a giant four-man skateboard.  I encouraged him with renditions of Carrie Underwood’s “Sure Hate to Break Down Here” while looking around nervously at the deserted landscape.  Thankfully, our relentless driver managed to find a hut that had a two-liter bottle full of petrol for sale.  Good enough.

            Sunday, we visited the famous Angkor Wat, which was mostly just imposing.  I preferred our next stop at Ta Keo, an ancient stone pyramid with incredibly steep stairways up the several stories to the top sanctuary complex.  The climb is severe enough that it keeps out the vast majority of crowds, so by the time I reached the top, there were only seven other people to share the temple with—a vast improvement over the thousands swarming over Angkor Wat.  It was peaceful, if exhausting, and dangerous enough to be thrilling.  I got the hang of climbing the ruins after falling a couple of times on the way up, which could have turned out much worse than it actually did.  I expect I will long remember scaling the fallen stone corners of a temple five stories above the jungle floor.

Monday, July 15-Tuesday, July 16 – Scrambling at work these days to catch up from being gone.  I’m starting to feel the pressure of having only a month left here.