You buy from me, Madame!"

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Another early morning sipping coffee on the sundeck as the boat cast off from Phnom Penh, another extravagant breakfast buffet, and another day of adventure lay before us!

After a couple of hours underway, we pulled ashore at Chong Keh village, famous for its weaving. We visited an elaborate monastery with its interior walls and ceiling completed covered in colorful artwork portraying the life of Buddha in dozens of tableaus. We walked past and greeted the elder monk of the village, and walked through part of the village itself, where many of the stilted houses have large looms in the shade under the house.

We saw the village’s Dragon Boat stored under some trees in the distance, which is used for yearly races and festivals. I couldn’t see it well enough to be able to tell how it compares to the Dragon Boats we’ve seen or paddled on Lake Champlain, but all boats here have essentially the same long narrow shape, so there was certainly some similarity.

As soon as we arrived on land, we were approached by a dozen or so women and children (and one man with a tiny daughter in tow), carrying scarves draped around their necks and slung over their arms. They had enough English to greet us and begin trying to make sales: “You buy from me, madame? I have many colors, very beautiful. Five dollars, ten dollars for big one.” At our guide’s urging, we refrained from shopping until the end of our visit, and the horde of sellers grew in numbers and followed us as we trailed around after Phali, listening to her descriptions of religious life and village life.

By the time we reached the home of an elderly woman, who sat at the top of the steps into her raised house to greet us, there were several dozen sellers, each of whom had been trying to catch our eyes and waving scarves at us. Anyone who made the mistake of saying to them, “I’ll buy later” was followed closely by the vendor to whom they had made their promise. At some imperceptible signal, it was time for the selling to begin in earnest. I felt like we were a herd of sheep surrounded by an even larger herd of sheepdogs nipping at our heels with their calls of, “Buy from me, madame! You say you buy from me! You want big one, you want small one? What color? Blue one, yellow one? Five dollars, this one! Ten dollars, big one! Two for five dollars! Small one, cotton, one dollar! You say you buy from me, Madame! I remember you! You remember me?” We were truly outnumbered and each had three, four, five or more sellers pressed up against us, waving scarves in our faces and calling at us to buy. At this point, we had been propelled on a wave of bodies to the area under the house and we were crammed between a loom, tables covered scarves, and enthusiastic sellers. I glanced at my mom in the middle of all this and saw the whites of her eyes showing as she looked around with an air of desperation, developing an exit strategy! (She made it out in one piece, in case anyone is worried.)

And yes, I bought scarves, quite a lot of them, in fact. For any of my co-workers who are reading this, you should anticipate a large pile of scarves arriving back at the office with me, from which you can choose what you like!

We walked back to the ship, and several sellers followed us, continuing the hard (but polite) sell along the way. Noticing that I had bagful already, they could see I was a shopper and targeted me. After smiling and saying “no, thank you” dozens of times, I finally laughed and turned toward them, opening my bag and waving some of my purchases, saying, “You buy from me? You buy from me, Madame? I have many beautiful scarf, only five dollars! You like red one, blue one, green one?” They laughed and mostly gave up on me at that point, turning to follow others and hope for better luck.

I bought one more small scarf just before we got back on the boat, from a young woman who I had promised to buy from when we first arrived. I gave her a dollar, she gave me a multicolored cotton scarf, and then she bowed and beamed at me. “Thank you, madame. I very happy you buy from me. I wish you a happy trip and I wish you a long and very happy life.”

We climbed back aboard the ship, met by the usual offer of cool wet washcloths and the shoe-cleaning brigade. After everyone was aboard and the gangplank had been pulled back in, a few of us stood on deck taking in the last of the scenery and a few women still waved cloth on the bank of the river below us, and began dropping their prices. What had cost ten dollars was now offered for eight dollars, and then seven. The ship's purser, a dark and handsome Burmese man named Neville, stood alongside me as we chatted with the women on the bank. He pointed out one large blue weaving, a suitable size for a table runner, with a design of Apsara dancers reminiscent of the children who had entertained the evening before. When the price dropped from $10 to $5, I decided to take it. The seller wadded it up and threw it up to us. Neville caught it, then took my $5 bill, folded it tightly and expertly tossed it back down to her. The ship pulled away from shore and everyone on the riverbank waved enthusiastically, shouting, “Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye forever!” I waved back, savoring yet another amazing moment in my long and happy life.

But the day wasn’t over. We had another wonderful lunch, followed by an even more wonderful nap. (I had been up most of the night thanks to something that didn’t agree with my stomach.) There was another shore excursion late in the afternoon and we walked into Peam Chhykaang village (having traveled further upstream and pulled along shore again.) This time we visited a garment factory where people worked on knitting/weaving machines making pieces of pullover sweaters from cotton thread. The “factory” was a huge concrete building with lots of open doors and windows, but despite the shade and a little breeze, it was hot and noisy and we were shocked to see that many of the people working were wearing long sleeves! The factory is owned by the Chinese, and apparently had just restarted production after several months of no work due to lack of raw materials. This community is happy to have the work available so people don't need to travel to Phnom Penh for work.

(Take a look at the labels on your clothes back home: I was shocked before I left when I realized that many of the clothes I was packing to bring with me were manufactured in Cambodia, Vietnam, and Thailand. I guess I’ve been taking most of my clothes on a pilgrimage to their homeland.)

After the factory, we walked to another monastery and Phali translated for us as we chatted with some young monks. They looked much younger than they actually were - one young man I would have guessed was 12 or 14 years old, but he was 18. Another who looked 16 or 17 was actually 25 and had been a monk for 6 years.

Somehow, one of the most fascinating sights for me at the monasteries is the monk laundry: saffron robes hung over balconies to dry. And why is “hunter orange” so unattractive at home, but so alluring when it is called “saffron” in Asia??? (I guess there is a bit of difference; saffron isn’t quite day-glo!)

From there, we stopped for a visit at an English school, which was just a small wooden building with three sides and rows of tables and benches. A dozen or so students, mostly teen and young adults, were eagerly awaiting their chance to chat with us and practice their English. I sat with a young man of 17 who was very interested in asking me about vowels and consonants in the English language. “How many consonants do you have in your language?” (Luckily, I knew the answer.) We both wrote our names in his notebook and he also wanted to know the meaning of the title of his English textbook: Cutting Edge English. And how would you explain the meaning of “cutting edge” to a Khmer person learning English? He knew the literal translation, but wanted to know the meaning of the whole phrase and why his book was called that. He was very earnest and we could have talked for a long time, but the visit was quick and I had to be on my way before he could get all the answers he obviously wanted.

The views along the river as we travel further into Cambodia are very different from what we saw in Vietnam. The river has much less traffic, no large dredging stations, and the land along the shore appears to be much less developed. There are houses, but far fewer than we have seen previously, and the river is narrower as we travel further along, with large sand bars and small crops planted along the bank below the high water line. We frequently see people swimming in the river, and bringing their white cattle down to the river to be washed and cool off. Phali has told us that people value and care for their cattle with great concern as so much of their livelihood depends on having strong healthy cattle to plow their fields. Pahli’s explanation: “They wash their cattle more than their children. They bring their cattle to the river and wash them carefully, sometimes several times a day. The children get dirty, and they bring them down to wash only once, very quickly!”

As we pass by, the water carries sound well enough that we can sometimes hear roosters crowing, music blaring from faraway speakers, and people in the river calling, “Hello!” One evening, we saw fireworks in the distance at several points along the way as we moving along - who knows why, maybe it’s related to the Chinese grave celebration. The Khmer New Year begins in a couple of weeks, and maybe they like to begin celebrating early. (Khmer New Year is on the 13th or 14th of April, similar to Thai New Year, when we will be in Chiang Mai, enjoying the world’s biggest water fight.)

While we were in Phnom Penh and had internet access for a while, it was wonderful to hear from people at home via email or blog comments. I am somewhat amazed that any of you would be reading through my long-winded descriptions of our adventures, but thank you for following along and letting us know you’re out there! It was especially fun chatting online with Jasmine for a while during our evening at the Phnom Penh dock - while there was an opportunity to go ashore in the evening and go off on our own for dinner or further exploration, nothing beats instant messaging from Cambodia with your teenage daughter!

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Photos

Cambodian gas station
You see these all along the roadside, with gas in soda or liquor bottle, and a funnel to fill your tank. At regular gas stations, gas costs about $6 a gallon; I don't what they charge when you're buying it like this!

Comments

[Steve]

savor
Hi, you questioned how do people read through your long entries? Well for me, and i think others, with any good writing i don't want to rush through it. I like to really taste it, savor it and then swallow. And it's always well worth the time. Keep writing lots! LOVE, me