Monkeys eat granola bars, and Jaz gets a Cambodian make-over

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(This was going to be a “quick update” but developed into another looong post.)

After spending Monday through Saturday at Tchey School, we had Sunday free to do as we pleased. Jaz’s agenda was to ride her bike to Angkor Wat and hang out with the kids who sell souvenirs. When we brought her Wat Bo students there for the field trip the previous Sunday, the souvenir-sellers got very interested in talking to us and the kids, and Jaz got interested in talking more to them. I had in mind my own temple tour for the purpose of taking photos, so we headed off on our bikes, and quickly went our separate ways.

I veered off the newly paved and improved main route before reaching Angkor Wat, which is about 7 kilometers from town. Dirt roads quickly dwindle to nothing much more than dirt paths, angling out into the countryside. I came upon a dusty little village, with a dusty little market selling some anemic-looking produce and the usual cuts of unidentified meat and plucked poultry, and dusty little half-naked children who found me to be quite a curiosity. Some of them just pointed and ran out to see me up close. Some of them grinned and stretched their hand out, chanting, “One dollar! One dollar!” The adults were a little more reserved, but a couple of them called out to me in Khmer as I passed by, or maybe they were calling to each other. “Look! A big sweaty white lady on a bike! Come see!” Luckily, I’m not terribly self-conscious any more; I’ve become used to the fact that people here stare unabashedly in a way that only very young children can get away with at home.

This village didn’t have much - but they did have a pool hall of sorts: several pool tables under a makeshift roof. I’m guessing there’s not a lot of employment available, so while the women chat in the “market” and go about their household tasks and the kids wander together in small packs, the men play pool. Perhaps I’m wrong, but that’s what I saw going on this particular afternoon.

I noticed a hand-lettered sign pointing down one path that announced “Cambodian Light Children Association” and headed in that direction. What I found was a small collection of palm-leaf shacks that made up a “poor street children and orphan training center.” It was essentially a small orphanage, and when I approached, a few young boys greeted me and invited me into their little compound. I learned that 32 children ages 4-19 live there, more boys than girls. They attend school when there are enough funds to support that (it is common in schools that do not have sponsorship like the PLF provides for teachers to expect daily payment from their students to supplement their meager salaries) and they “learn to work” so they can leave when they can support themselves. These boys had some reasonable English, though the couple of adults present didn’t seem to speak English at all. There were only a handful of kids there, and when I asked where the rest of them were, I was told they were “at church.” Hmmmmm, that’s odd in a Buddhist country. “What church?” I asked. “The Christian Church,” they told me. Suddenly, the name “Cambodian Light” made more sense. I will refrain from editorializing about aid groups that come not only to feed and educate but to spread their religion…

The kids graciously showed me around their three dilapidated buildings, pointing out where they sleep on the floor, where they get water (they have a well), and offering me the one chair to sit on so they could show me their photo album of some volunteers who came and spent time with them. They politely asked if I would like to stay and be their English teacher, which I politely declined with sincere apologies. As a consolation, they asked if I would sign their guestbook, which I gladly did. It asked for my name and gender and country and job and email address. “Will someone email me?” I asked them. “I will try,” answered the boy who appeared to be their spokesman. Then he asked if I would like to make a donation, and whipped out a ledger saying, “I can give you a receipt!” I gave him $20, for which he dutifully gave me a receipt (will the IRS care if it’s in Khmer?) and asked how I would like them to spend my money. “You want to spend on school, or food, or to help build a kitchen?” I told him that they could decide how best to spend it, then I offered them the bag of fruit I had bought from a roadside vendor, which they gratefully took. They all happily posed for some photos, and I rode off in search of more unexpected roadside adventures, wishing I could be their English teacher or do something more than donate $20.

Despite having maintained a general sense of direction for quite a while, at one point I totally lost track of which way I needed to go. I began asking people, “Angkor Wat?” and pointing in a couple of different directions in the universal sign for “which way should I go?” This caused some great amusement, but everyone pointed me somewhere and eventually I ended up back on the paved road.

I hadn’t bought a temple pass so I couldn’t go into any of the temples, but there is not shortage of photo opportunities even from the outside. I passed by and took photos of what I think of as The Big Three: Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom, and Bayon (which may actually be a part of Angkor Thom.) They are within a very few kilometers of each other and most of the road between them is paved and shaded by trees, so despite being the middle of the day, the bike ride was pleasant. The temples are truly mind-blowing to see, but I will say I had the most fun taking photos of people and monkeys along the way.

I have to confess my ignorance about what kind of monkeys these are, but I can tell you that they’re pretty bold. When I spotted some off the side of the road, I stopped to see if I could get any good photos with my camera zoomed in all the way. The zoom turned out to be unnecessary as they are accustomed to being fed by passing tourists and sauntered over within a couple of minutes. I had given my fruit to the kids at the orphanage, so I dig into my backpack and found a granola bar, which they seemed to enjoy just fine when I tossed small pieces. When I turned to go back to my bike and grab the tripod, I discovered that one monkey had made himself at home on my bike. Over a period of a half hour or so, they took turns sitting on my bike seat and handlebars, investigating the bike basket, trying to work open the zipper of my bag, stealing my empty water bottle and taking it up a tree, and generally entertaining me. Eventually, they were entertaining lots of people as several motos with families on board stopped to watch and offer treats of their own. A tuktuk stopped and the monkeys got bolder, making a grab for the passenger’s camera and upsetting the tuktuk driver by jumping on the roof and peeling off some kind of rubber strip. A girl came along selling bananas (what a good little entrepreneur!) and that kept me and the monkeys happier for a while longer, but eventually I brushed the crumbs and monkey footprints off my bike seat and pedaled away.

My other interesting interaction was with a 12-year-old girl who tried very diligently to sell me books when I stopped at a roadside “restaurant” for a cold drink. She had a selection of books about Cambodia, most of which I already have, and I told her clearly that I wouldn’t be buying any books today, thank you very much. She smiled and offered one more. “You have this one too?” she wanted to know. “No, not that one. But I’m not going to buy books today,” I reiterated. “Oh, but you should buy this one! If you read it, you will not be able to put it down!” I chuckled at her salesmanship, but held firm, She eventually sat down across from me and we chatted for a long time. She never stopped making clever suggestions about why I should buy from her, but it was always with a smile or a laugh. Her English was excellent, and she didn’t have to resort to the usual tricks like, “If I tell you capital city of your state, you buy from me?” Instead, we talked about the book First They Killed My Father which was written by a Cambodian woman who came to Vermont as a refugee in the early 80’s. This little book-seller was clearly a bright girl and would like to be a biologist. In the meantime, she goes to school six days a week and tried to make a couple of bucks on Sundays. A good day of business might mean she sells two books. Some days, she sells nothing.

As I headed back in the general direction of Siem Reap, I wondered how Jaz’s day had been going. As I rode by Angkor Wat, I biked through the vendors’ area to see if I could spot her anywhere. I didn’t see her, but suddenly I heard someone call, “Oh! Did you find your daughter?” Two young women who we had spoken to the previous weekend were waving me over to them. I stopped and they caught me up on Jaz’s afternoon activities. “Oh, we have a lot fun! She help me sell water and we put make-up on her, make her very beautiful! But she go home to wash it off, she say you will think she crazy! But we take pictures, you can see. We have fun together!” They were quite animated and sent me on my way, saying, “Maybe see you next Sunday!”

So Jaz had a lovely day of her own, which also included eating some kind of gigantic cockroach with the girls. (They took pictures of that too.) Make-up really isn’t Jaz’s thing, but she let the girls doll her up and play with her hair, and then rode home feeling ridiculously conspicuous in her eyeliner and mascara. She was very glad that no one at the guesthouse saw her before she could scrub her face!

Overall, a very satisfying Sunday. A little exercise, a little sunshine, a little interaction with interesting people and other primates; what more could we ask for?

(By the way, the rest of the photos are here and here.

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Comments

[Tom Whitney]

more fun
I was fascinated by those statues of people at Angkor Wat. And they have added new ones. Many of them had distinct personalities. Fund to see the fun Jaz was having with her friends. Can't believe the size of those cockroaches. Interesting to see the builders of the brick wall, and the pool hall. More great stuff!!!!!