Here’s some lads fixing their fishing net and then showing off how its used:

  And in this village a local entrepreneur was selling ice cream with prizes for the kids who hit the right spot on the rotating dart board affixed to his 2 wheel store: I gave it a whirl…its a little cross bow attached and aimed @ the big turning wheel where you put the nice pointy, suburban parent-scaring METAL DART and then press the trigger!  The ice cream was very very good, but I didn’t win…

The happy face of capitalism:  I floated up to one spot on the river to find the local carwash: 

As I floated into Phnom Penh I found this fellow fishing across from the Royal palace: Both river & city are quite dirty, but the smiles:

That night Vathana and I went out for dinner to celebrate and I ate some bugs:

As always, click on any pictures to see the whole thing.

…so the drinking continues.  We come to one home along the main road.  There is much libation  and some nice snake, freshly prepared.. I help collect some fresh herbs to add to the boiling mixture that has MANY SCARY GREEN CHILIS for my wimpy white taste buds..   SPICY & GOOD!

Did I mention I’d been drinking? It was a simple affair:  GREAT VIEWS!

We walked to the village Wat,  the Buddhist Temple…Though Buddhism & most temples were utterly destroyed by Pol Pot & Company, there are Wats everywhere along this part of the Mekong.  One every kilometer it seems.  Koki Thom village has a beautiful Wat:
ITS A BIG PICTURE HERE, BUT Y”ALL STILL NEED TO CLICK ON IT TO SEE THE BOAT.
On the right is the local boat used for  Bon Om Tuk, the Water Festival that marks the end of the Wet season, and in Phnom Penh also celebrates the reversal of the Tonle Sap River, which leads to Tonle Sap Lake & Angkor Wat.  That’s right…the river REVERSES COURSE..that’s how much water comes out of the Mekong during the monsoons, it pushes up the Tonle Sap, reversing its course and providing the huge Tonle Sap lake with tons of nutrients..so much that this lake grows from a depth of 1 meter to upwards of 9 meters and grows 4-5 times in size!  . The resulting floodplain provides a perfect breeding ground for fish. As a result, fish population swells and this process provides Cambodias with 60 % of their protein intake.  Unfortunately, large hydroelectric damson the river in China & potentially in Laos threatens this process.  Already fishermen in Laos & Northern Cambodia are having smaller & smaller catches.   oh wait…we’re we all walking down a dirt path lined with green, wild banana trees drinking?

OH YEAH BABY!…….and so we roll on into the night.  The dirt paths once wide in the sunlight now shrink before us in the rising darkness.  Soon there is the light of homes again and the one ahead has goings on that are quite obvious.  Its another party and in we go.  This time -thankfully- it is Vathana who is the subject of attention.  Village boy returned from the big city and cousin of our host, Gi.  He sits on the ubiquitous bamboo platform in a circle of men.

Younger men stand around and in the back, women, who gossip about me. Space is made for Vathana and I and 1,2,3 (“Mooey, Bai, Bei”) a shot of rice whiskey is in my hand again. Thank God i’m not in Vietnam, Where, to repeat, I was always expected to drink a shot with each man separately. However many times I tried to teach the custom of the shared shot, in Vietnam the honor was always one to one, so a few rounds brought me much joviality and a few more brought me closer to the floor.
But this is Kampuchea and “Mooey, Bai, Bei”, glasses are raised and I proclaim “Choii Moi” to much esclaim from everyone, even the women in back.  Handshakes, introductions (“Hello I am Mr. Ben”, “Sok sa bye (how are you)- I am Bram”). “Sok sa bye tae” (I am fine) I reply. Camera comes out, pictures taken and shown on the small camera screen to much hilarity. My liver is a steel wool pad and my drinking stride is again reached. Vathana finally shows the beautiful drinking face I remember from last year. A Wide smile, with no teeth and his eyes equally hidden within puffy cheeks and scrunched brow. A beaming face is a cliche, but right now his could be the accompanying picture of the dictionary entry.
“Choi Moii!!” I toast to him. Again laughter.
Vanthana takes his drink then leans across and says “Baby…that’s the bomb, but you have to speak `Choul Moii’”
“CHOUL MOII, not CHOI MOII?” Again some laughter.
“Shhh..yeah no way baby what you said..its not, ah..good words” “What have I been saying all day?”
“Ahhh…you touch yourself.”

A beautiful brown and deeply muscled hand appears. “I am Mr. Gi, Chou ti wahn (welcome to my home)” “Ahkuhn” (thank you) I reply. Mr. Gi also has a beautiful smile, beneath the cool black eyes where sobriety has recessed but the rice whiskey is firmly held in control. The two of us are soon playing rock paper scissors…and we’re pretty easily matched there..but I am very good @ this..so I end up winning the last few rounds. Perhaps it is this skill that impresses him as much as my drinking, but I am invited to go fishing with him the next morning @ 6:00 a.m…but their is more drinking and Vathana’s father appears to join us. Soon the family and friends are off again from Mr. Gi’s…apparently on some sort of mission. Their is only a dark path and the lights of houses along the way that i remember, but suddenly we are hurrying and there is a chicken in someones hand. A chicken that has been taken…stolen? No says Vathana, but it has been taken without asking. Sort of a festival-village-neighbor balancing thing for some prior slight or action. “Maybe the owner owed the family a chicken but hadn’t paid up?” “Yeah..basically baby!” whispers Vathana as we hurry back to the house…”to kill and eat this chicken?” “Yeah..for you.” Oh I am so there. But @ the house I have to evacuate some beer and I miss the main act itself. In the small hut that is the kitchen Johnny has already started a fire, a big pot of water heating up and I ask to hold the chicken. And there it is..a heavy body in one hand, my other hand holding the neck, which moves loosely without life to hold it. This is a chicken we are going to eat and I make a sort of prayer for it, which i later learn was an impressive step for me to have taken. But then the chicken is in the pot, then out, the boiling water having loosened the feathers for easy plucking…my hands are wet with feathers as they pull away surprisingly easy. It has started to rain, but the fire is nice and warm and there is a meal to be had soon.

I went to bed late but still had the boat out on the Mekong for some fishing…which was basically taking the fish out of the traps set in the river…  I learned to handle an eel using a glove, fortunately not the hard way.  And I thought he was joking when Vathana said to keep my privates covered from a certain fish that likes to bite ‘em…until I noticed all the other men wrapping their kramas carefully around themselves TIGHTLY.

Then it was time for village kids to try the boat: A nice day for a swim!

This picture is wonderful:

In his 50′s and ripped!

Brother…debonair even after a few cold(ish) ones. Grandmother…glasses result of eye surgery (?!), betel eater=beautiful black (remaining) teeth!  Sweet….Front porch, kitchen. living room (TV inside though)

Vathana with his Niece, His sister is married to an “drug enforcement” policeman in Phnom Penh.  He has a car & is not really liked all that much.  (Can you think of a word that rhymes with eruption?)

My Khmer family…that’s Mom in front!  Note the hip, short hair cut popular with most older women in the village.

The homestead…

 The path to the Mekong….

 Road in front of house after some rain….

We kick back in some hammonks while enjoying small green bananas, and some coconut rice sweets. I inhale the smells, close my eyes and listen to it all in grace….yeah right!   In hammocks? With Vanthana’s brothers around?  Not 10 minutes after introductions and we’re down the street drinking right next to the Mekong at some other house!  “Hello! Hello!… My name Mr. Soi!… My name Plon!” 10 or so guys sitting around, now reanimated with our arrival.  I buy a case of Anchor (which is pronounced An-CHORE, as is basically a smooth lager, perfect for 11:00 a.m, which is the time these guys got started) to keep things going…which we’re rolling just fine, thank you.  It is festival time, most in Cambodia has gone home, which means its time to PARTY!  And off we roll to another party, more introductions, more drinking…i learn a new drinking cheer (same as last year, but i’ve forgotten) which receives much cheer & laughter everytime i say it:   “Choi Moii!” 

 The Khmer drinking toast is a beautiful phrase which translates as “Crash the glass!” And thankfully this is Cambodia, and the ritual is generally shared by the group.  Last year in Vietnam there was a constant onslaught of rice wine shots taken one to one within the group.  For me this meant i was doing 4-6 shots for every 1 the Viets took.  I learned to fake it quickly.   “Choi Moii!” I shout as I get up:  i’ve been drinking for a little while and the Mekong is just yards away.  Feet need to feel it, my eyes need to drink it, and anyways I have to pee….

COMING HOME… Last year I Flew to Hong Kong in late October& made my way through the karst mountains of Guilin & Yangshou to Hanoi (where I learned how to ride a motorcycle on a Minsk, a bike still made in Belarus @ $500 with a 2 stroke engine that is certainly not Al Gore approved; for details see my friends blog:  http://thewanderyears.net/motorcycle_diaries/md_journal01.html  8 days of adventure in the north highlands of Vietnam: weddings, funerals, karaoke, rice wine…; his whole site, http://thewanderyears.net/ details his 18 months travelling from London to New Zealand, only taking a plane ONCE!)  I loved it so much I bought a 125cc Suzuki and rode all the way to Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) and on through the Mekong (and back after my bike was refused exit @ the Mekong border of Cambodia).   Check out my blog for that trip:   http://blogs.bootsnall.com/mountaindan/   Its short, as by the time I lost my motorcycle for good, after successfully smuggling it into Cambodia only to have it destroyed in a motorcycle accident about an hour later, I realized I needed “to be here now” instead of back in the States.  Besides, i’m narcisstic and nobody was telling me how great it all was, except for Cat, supercool Tahoe chick, A-1 .  See upcoming entry Moses, R.I.P for details.

 Okay…sorry.  Got sidetracked there.  Back to my point: Why Cambodia?  2 reasons. The traffic.  In China, the buses are filled with the loud, crass upwardly mobile that are the result of Deng Xiaoping’s doctrined enshrined proclation ” To get rich is glorious” that is destroying China’s countryside, mountains, rivers and whatever tiny shred of buddhist humility that China hasn’t had much of since way before Mao anyway.  In Vietnam, 75 million of some of the hardest working and wonderfully happy people in the world are people are now all riding motos so fast they make traffic in Rome seem pleasurable.   They are both the best and the worst drivers in the world.  The best: as only a young, smoking Saigon kid could weave his Honda Dream moped through buses, tuk-tuks, pigs, cows, buses, old men on bicycles, old women drying rice on the road itself, with his mother, sister and some chickens on board while talking on his cell phone and ignoring the red light @ the intersection like 20-30% of everybody else does as a traffic cops smiles and watches from his motorcycle which he wisely sits on by the side of all this anthill-like movement... The worst: See above.   On Chrismas eve last year I rode my Suzuki from the Mekong to HCMC, and through the night I came across 3 accidents and the chalk outlines of several more.  In short…TAKE A HUGE TOURIST BUS OR STAY HOME! ANYWAY, the traffic in Phnom Penh as I made my way from the airport that first day made me smile.  I forgot how much more slowly everyone drives.  Slow enough to enjoy the sights, take pictures, even on the back of a moto.  I love this peaceful courtesy.  Even the young smoking moto boys rarely ride fast.   Here’s a picture of one of todays’ Khmer, before I get all serious.

 But why? Why so slow? Some history (BORING!): 30 plus years ago a decade long civil war & American bombing campaigns of the Cambodian countryside  had led the poor into the mad arms of Pol Pot, the Communist Khmer Rouge, and the madness of the Killing Fields.   The Khmer Rouge overthrew the government in 1975, declared it was now Year Zero, and attempted a complete restructure of society.  They shut down the borders, eliminated currency, closed hospitals & schools, forced the abandonment of cities & relocated everyone to collective farms in pursuit of an agricultural utopia.   1 to 2 million poeple died as a result of it all,-out of a population of 7 million- some to the war, some to the bombings, but most to the short 3 plus year rule of the genocidal Angkar, the unseen leadership of the Khmer Rouge.  A motto was “To keep you is no benefit. To destroy you is no loss“  and many, many were destroyed: for being a educated, for wearing glasses, for being from a city, or simply for eating more rice than another.  It was their neighbor and sometime enemy, Communist Vietnam who put a stop to it when they invaded in 1979. 

A collective trauma, carried by both those who survived and the young for whom it is lurks behind them.  For few were ever brought to justice, and today there are members of govenment who played major roles in that dark period.  Such a burden, along side limbless victims of landmines, street thugs from ruling families  and extreme poverty…maybe the slow traffic reflects a collective need to decompress… And there is a saying:  In Vietnam they grow the rice, in Cambodia they watch it grow.  Much as I love and admire the Vietnamese, it is the quiet survival of Cambodians that impresses me more.

REASON#2 WHY I LOVE CAMBODIA:  Vathana

So I make my way from the airport through the peaceful traffic, homeless, trash, and even rubble that still are its streets.  Waiting for me @ my hotel is Vathana, pronounced Waa-tana, moto driver, student, & overseas college hopeful.  I had emailed him my arrival & hotel plans…but had received no response. Getting out of the taxi and hearing a voice say “Hey Baby!” was FANTASTIC!  Embraces, hotel check in, and off for beers….Apparently we are to ride off to his village for Ben Pchum, the festival of the spirits.   Vathna has told his friends, family that we are coming (but not me!) and there are parties aplenty to be visited.  What a welcome to look forward to.  Vathana has lived in the capital for about 6 years.  Sent there by his mother, who recognized his intelligence, but Vathana was very reluctant at first.  He is from a small village right on the Mekong and Phnom Penh was &  is a dangerous place.   He is smart though.  Driving around town with him, one is bound to bump into both  locals & barangs (foreigners) who’ve used his driving services and they all shout out hello to him.  A few years ago some college students he met emailed him a list of western slang, much of it out dated, but he figured them all out &  TOO often uses them appropriately.  I tell him I am tired from the plane trip and sure enough he says “You got to hit the hay!”   Every girl he likes he calls “Goddess” and for my exit in December I’ve promised to be his wingman as we search out some female barang goddesses for him to hit on.   

I get some sleep.  But it doesn’t last.  Vathana has gone home, and I am thristy for an Angkor beer…so its off to the Voodoo Bar just down the street and two more old friends, Shrey Lo and Ly, the beautiful bartenders who I rarely beat @ pool.  Oh the first time we met I won 3 games in a row,  Ly especially missing shots anyone could get.  Once they figured out I wasn’t an insecure barang simply in search of female attention, the chalk dust flew and I really had to improve my game.   A round of beers & some pool and soon I was invited to join them @ 3:00 a.m. for the first day of Ben Pchum @ a local Wat.  After a few hours sleep I met them outside the hotel and off we went, about 25 minutes away (“really far” they said).     Ben Pchum is for the blessing of souls of ancestors, relatives, and friends who have passed away, but when we arrived it was mostly venders setting up outside the temple, which was in the middle of a basic, poor neighborhood.  Stone steps and walkways surrounded the faded white walls and traditional khmber gold A frame roof of this temple.  The special local touch was  the string of  Christmas lights blinking and chiming out  ”Oh come all yeah faithful” in Nokia-style tones over the front temple doors.  

Shrey Lo had brought some still warm balls of rice and meat in a little tray, but we also purchased some candies, incense and a bottle of water.  Old women sat at the entrance to the wat to watch over the shoes of this mornings patrons, dogs & cats sat or wandered wherever they pleased, and everyone had an air of the ordinary that is so very Buddhist.  This is one of many temple events throughout the year, and even the monks looked bored.  A speaker was turned on and one monk began some chanting , but the rhythm around us didn’t seem to change.  Only slowly did more folks show up, monks inside begin to sit in messy rows and join in the chanting, and some locals begin to walk around the outside giving their offerings.  We joined in, throwing rice &/or candies into baskets placed in corners or along the wall we walked along, every now & then pouring some of the water out of the bottle and onto the ground over the wall, sometimes skipping previous offering places probably because there wasn’t enough food to offer from all 3 of us!  After our 3rd circulation of the temple we went inside….it was beautiful.

 Hello. Welcome to my blog.  As you can read I can sometimes be in a sour mood.  That’s more fun. And honest. Which is what will be attempted for the coming months.  There will be beautiful pictures, but no “We waited 2 hours for a 6 hour bus trip that took 10 hours” college girl whining.  This is Asia.  If they sell you something it is with a smile, “no problem” and never ever the truth.  Its great!  There will be some history, but more of it will be impressions and recountings of the stupid things I do and the craziness and fun it leads to.  There will be lots of parties, for I am ultimately entering Laos and  floating down one of the greatest rivers in the world, the Mekong.   As a falang, or foreigner in Lao, I will stand out and be quite popular in places tourists rarely go.  Which is where I like to go. Alone mostly in a 9’6″ kayak with camera, notebook, sunscreen, bug spray, suture kit, one set of clothes, one map, one ipod, a waterproof watch that is already fogging up from condensation inside, lots and lots of ibuprofin, some diazapam, codeine, and a lao dictionary. And my ever present krama, the national scarf of Cambodia and for me my towel, skirt, sun breaker, hat, daypack and, on windy days, sail.

The grammar will be poor.  Here I go!

The paddle is of course the tool of my river trip. But my vehicle is a 27 pound Innova Safari inflatable kayak…ahh….

Each day i will be floating on air of my own creation, if you will.

www.paddle&air.wordpress.com was the desired link; alas the ampersand is not available for web addresses. So, www. mekongwaters .wordpress.com it is…..i think it’s equally mysterious.

Her is a picture of Kira Salak: She paddled 600 miles solo down the Niger river in a Safari…She is SuperBadAss! Here is a link about her: http://www.nationalgeographic.com/emerging/kiraSalak.html