OPERATIONAL DISTRICT: KIRIVONG
HEALTH CENTERS: KAMPONG KRENG
Today's site is special. It's in an area that has low access because it's situated in the floodplains. To get there, we need to take a boat. But, before I get to that, I need to talk about food.
The team split up the night before since the disticts are getting further to commute between. D and I stay in a guest house in the villages. We get the top floor that towers over the low rise tents below. I take a look out to the horizon and for miles there is no sign of a high rise. I am on the tallest building in this area, and it's only three stories high.
The night before we had a lovely home cooked meal. The village we stayed in had mostly closed, but D walked into a random house that had some tables set up. He asked if they were serving food and they just said yes. Most of our restaurants are found this way, walking around looking for people that have one or two tables set up. Chances are, they're always selling food. Last night was no exception. She cooked for us a very rare fish that D had never had, but had always heard his parents talk about when he was a kid. We also had a meat based soup that had dried pork skin soaked in water, intestines, pork blood, and many other different kinds of innards. There was also a sticky rice wrap with bean and pork in the middle, kind of like the glutinous rice that Chinese people eat. Except, when comparing with other food he's ad, D said that it's remarkably like the Vietnamese and Thai varieties, but does not mention the Chinese one. It seems that even food culture here is international.
The next morning we also decide to eat at the same place. We get noodles that taste like Pho, but this one has a special touch. In each bowl the lady has included one piece of each innards I had a taste of large intestine, kidney, the pancreas, and liver. If you asked me to recall the taste I couldn't, but they were all pretty liver-ish in consistency.
We have some time to visit the local market, of which we are situated right in the middle. The market is typical of those Southeast Asian markets, except that the food is likely more organic and picked right nearby. As you wander through the narrow allies you see fruit venders, vegetable venders, people selling noodles, people selling desserts, etc. It's the all-provider for this area, from food to cooking utensils to stationery. I see two small kids doing some homework while sat at a table that is half broken down. Hard at work, and it's only 08:30. The people have not only made this market a place of business but also a place of rest. You see aunties lounging around their stock, only piping their head up if you look interested in whatever merchandise they're selling. I snap a few pictures because it's probably one of the most run-down markets I've seen in my time around Southeast Asia, but in that way it's almost the most authentic. People don't push their stuff on you, you either want to buy it or you don't. They're not out here to make a sale, but to sell a good quality product.
We wander upon the fruit section and D is eager to show me all the fruits of Cambodia. He asks me if I've tried this one, that one. He asks me if I know what this or that one is. The first up? Soursop. I've only had soursop as a topping for ice kacang in Singapore and, even then, it's mostly the canned variety. When D sees the soursop he quicky urges me to take a look. I said I've never actually tried real soursop, so he then urges me to buy one. The lady sat at the market there insists that I take one for free to try. And so, for the first time ever in a small village in Cambodia, I had soursop. It wasn't just the standard soursop either, it was a different species. The seeds were packed around flesh that wasn't so stringy but rather fell off the seed quite loosely. It had the sweet taste of mango but a consistency that was a little more grainy, like an apple. It was probably one of my favorite tropical fruits. I thank the lady for letting me try it for free and she smiles. She tells us that actually she's the owner of the boat we were going to take, and laughs and says, "when I heard you and your friend speaking English I knew you two must be the ones taking my boat. No one else here speaks English!" Small world; small village.
As we are leaving, we also see jackfruit and another special kind of banana, not the standard yellow ones that you get in the supermarket in the West. He buys some jackfruit as well as some of this special banana and gives them to me to try. When I bit into it, I'm confused. I know what a banana should taste like, but here in the country there's not just one kind of banana but many. The species that I was eating was "one of the many bananas we have here!" said D. How do I describe the taste of this wonderful banana species. You know dried banana chips, and how they don't taste totally like the bananas we get in supermarkets in Europe and the Americas? Imagine if that was undried and reconstituted from dryness. That, and add a little bit more of a slightly sour flavor and you have that banana. God, I had no idea that it was even a different species of banana, it just looked like a dwarfed version of the 'regular' bananas I would eat. I underestimated the diversity in tropical fruit here. That was doubly confirmed when I tried Cambodian jackfruit, a completely different taste to the Malaysian ones as well. More sweet, more crunchy. Why hasn't anyone discovered this yet? Maybe because it's not mass farmed yet..
It's a small boat that is long and thin, shaped like a canoe, and powered with one guy on the back who uses a propeller to steer the direction of the boat. We step on and sit down, and the young man maneuvers the propeller to get the boat to turn 180 degree, and then sets off.
Riding on the back of the motorcycle made me feel like I was part of the countryside. Being on that boat made me feel like I was from it. I cannot even express the feeling of gratitude to D for taking me on this segment of the trip this time. Nor can I express the deep feeling I got when I was on the delta crusing through, wind blowing in my face; the smell of the delta floodplains entering my nose, the water splashing on my skin. There were no bumps along the way unless we followed in the wake of another boat. As we passed the housing that had been built in the floodplains, it was like snapshots of farm life passing through my eyes. I tried to capture every moment on my camera. There were traditional houses thatched with palm leaves and staked on the trunk of the tree that D had mentioned was "cylindrical and tall." There were farmers rowing their boats. Occasionally a small stork would fly out of the marshland and migrate and so flew alongside us for a few meters. Every so often, we would pass by an invasive plant species that floated atop the water and covered the entire floodplain, making it appear like a green swamp. When we passed through them it was as if we were Moses, parting the green sea. When I stood up on the boat, you could see over the ridge of the main pathway and see that there were parallel dirt lines peeking over the water surface: flooded rice plains. The best part was, it wasn't some large tourist gimmick to impress anyone. It was the feeling that I was able to passively soak in the experience that made it so special (the only thing that exposed me was my camera). The setting wasn't 'touched up' for anyone, it was just the way it was. It was just agrarian life. I think I tend to overromanticize these rural experiences, but I rarely feel times of pure bliss and that ride was one of them. When I stood up and the wind hit my entire body, I felt like a part of the ecosystem.
To arrive at the health center, we had to dock the boat, and climb out and walk through the bushes it was tucked away among the dense brush. The director of this health center said half of the year the place is flooded, the other half it's muddy, and so all the village workers need boats to access the households to screen. Our questionnaire question of asking whether or not they had a motorcycle was moot. So was the incentive of offering them bicycles for their work -- who needs a bicycle in the river? In fact, so much of the community revolved around water that kids were even going to schools in boats. When the session was being conducted, it would be interrupted by the loud clamor of the propeller starting and being sunk into the water. D treated everyone to lunch to thank them for the hard work that they do. We had fried fish (smaller variety this time, but still very fleshy), pork, and egg fried together with bitter gourd. Part of the meal was prepared by schoolgirls who were on break between the morning and evening schooling sessions, only guided and overseen by an older lady, maybe 30 or so, who supervised most of the cooking. They were very friendly and looked at us smiling (the foreigner who looks Cambodian but isn't). There is a cluster of bananas strung on a hook in this house. D excitedly points out that it's yet another variety of bananas. He asks how much for one and the ladies cooking say it's not for sale since it was sent to them. However, they make a kind exception and allow D to rip one off for me to try. Yet another different flavor, but this time more similar to what I'll now call Western Bananas. We were sat under a house where the pillars were upholding the base of the building above us. It was only after talking to the director that we realized in fact it was the primary school directly above us.
On the way back, fewer pictures. The first ride I wanted to remember every moment. The second ride, I wanted to savor it. Here's some more shots from the river.
When we get back to the shores, drama. They wanted to overcharge us 2.5 USD. We try to call the original lady that we negotiated the price with and she has fled already to Vietnam. Vietnam? It all made sense to D. "No wonder when I was talking to her I thought her accent was a bit weird."
The Vietnamese and Cambodian land border is very close to where we boarded the boat. It's maybe about a 1 hour boat ride to the border. And so, the people that were running this boat to take us to Cambodia weren't actually Cambodian, in fact, they were Vietnamese Cambodian. There was some miscommunication along the way and so they wanted to charge us an additional 2.5 USD for the ride to and from the boat station. Thus far, I've talked about the exchange of culture and language across Cambodia, Thailand, and Vietnam. The last point I want to make about this subject is the exchange of business across these countries. I can only imagine similar things happen along the Cambodian and Thai border. I just found it "so Southeast Asian" - and slightly funny, if I'm being honest - that someone who negotiated a deal with us had already fled to another country so we couldn't talk with them. It's really the stuff you see out of the movies. Eventually we were able to get a hold of her and explain the situation but she said "No, sorry, it's 27.5 USD." Well, you can't say that the Vietnamese don't know how to do business. The guest house owner said that the Cambodian boats should usually only cost 15 USD.
So now I'm sat at a cafe with D catching up with this blog. We had a Cambodian coffee, still a little bit sweeter and less strong that I'd like, but that mocha quality to its taste is there. Children are playing outside and walk from house to house to play with the other kids. People stop in and out for food. And we've been here for about 4 hours so far. No one has asked us to leave. We've planted ourselves here as if it were our home, and the owners of the house have treated us the same. Even the dirt from the mud we stepped in going to and from the boat has dried and crusted, forming dirt chunks on their floor. They still haven't asked us to leave. Cambodian hospitality and attitude in a nutshell. Anything (within good reason) goes. "Please, make yourself at home." "Please, try one of my soursops." In the market earlier, D sliced off a small piece of jackfruit to try before buying. No sudden jerk reaction of "NO! You try you buy!" He also wanted to show me a bean sprout from the country that is longer and thinner than those you find in the market. To show me, he picks a singular sprout from a vendor's stall without asking for permission. The vendor doesn't say anything - it's just one bean sprout. Banana for sale? No? Can we still try one? Sure.
I'm really starting to feel more comfortable here. Most people in the country don't care where you go or what you do as long as you're being polite and not a nuisance. You're really a free person here, not bound by the rules of society you grew up in. Not to say there isn't decorum, it's just they don't fuss with smaller matters. It goes both ways. An old uncle comes and looks over my shoulder at what I'm typing (while I'm typing this sentence). He's naturally curious to see what's in these computers. I don't mind him, neither does D, and he continues to work on his phytochemistry slides.
A cat has snuggled on the blanket that the house members usually sleep in. The blanket is placed on top of a mat on the floor of their home. The floor that we've now muddied.
On the way back to the guest house for the night (which, by the way, often places will open up as guest hoess and not hotels to avoid taxes associated iwth hotels), I see strings of christmas lights strung from a single point radiating outwards, creating a 'tent' like structure. There is loud music playing and many Cambodians gathered around drinking and socializing. Wooden benches are set up and although the night is consistently quiet, there is a breach of silence when we drive by. I ask T what that is and he explains that out in the village, there aren't many places to congregate so the people will often use these spaces to get together and socialize. There's a communal quality I love about it: the fact that parties and socializing still occurs out in the countryside. It's like the wedding tents that we have passed many times, except this time it's more physically open and accessible to the public. They've established a visible presence in the fields and have come together to chat. But, it's not in cafes or bars, rather, it's outdoors at seemingly random locations where there's space. Space being the important part.
There is so much space out here. I admire how the Cambodians have adapted the land to their needs and have utilized their space from the farming, to the weddings, to the outdoor parties. Their conceptualization of space is completely different than the American concept of the sprawling cities, and the Singaporean concept of the well-planned high rise Blade Runner reality. When you don't have the nice buildings and venues, and strip it away, what you have is the people and community. The others in the car are chatting away in Khmer and do not comment on the "popup beer garden," but I slide my nose horizontally and keep my gaze fixed on the event, witnessing the pocket of culture in the Space before my eyes.