Having emerged from the hole, I have deliberately spent the last week slightly cocooned, to rebuild my physical confidence after the fall - and have spent my time reading, bathing in iodine and creating makeshift plastic covers for my leg, whilst I take an otherwise impossible shower. I have discovered that there must be at least 101 ways to fashion a Lucky carrier bag (PP Supermarket chain) into a leg shower-cap. You see, volunteering can add so much to your skill set! (please see subsequent posts).
Friday night did however mark my return to the social scene with a visit to Rubies wine bar, where the relaxed ambiance and red wine make for a chilled-out evening even when you are alone. I particularly enjoyed the super-hero themed fancy-dress which involved the staff donning Rubettes outfits. At just before midnight, mystified as to what the super-powers were supposed to have been, and actually more to the point who the Rubettes are, I clambered into yet another Tuk Tuk destination Caltex Bokkor.
The following day, I opted for a half day trip out to the Silk Islands, or Koh Dach, if you'd prefer. Approximately 16 km outside of PP, Koh Dach is an island where the residents live on earnings generated from making and then selling cotton and silk. My camera and I, iodine, plasters and mozzie spray were descended upon, (c.f Sihanoukville) by five enterprising individuals, all eager to secure a purchase. This time I was mentally prepared for the onslaught of "you are so beautiful" comments pelting me from all sides. Tempted though I was to say "cut to the chase, I'll buy one silk item from three of you, ok?" instead I indulged in a final exploitation of the powers of my manhole wound (before the stitches are removed).
Picture the scene, one tuk tuk, one barang and five Khmer all squashed into the back comparing scars on exposed body parts and offering colourful explanations as how they were acquired. Mine was definitely up there, even the doctor who finally unpicked the sutures commented on how she now has yet another potential hazard to add to her "typical Cambodian injuries" listing. Glad to have been of service to medical science.
The ferry arrived and on we drove across the Mekong to the Silk Island. There followed a bumpy (ouch) trip through dirt tracks to visit the silk making machines. These contraptions are incredibly simple mechanically and involve repeatedley passing a wooden block with thread wrapped round it through a wooden frame and then pushing that frame forward. The process is then repeated ad infinitum.
How do you decide who to buy from when you are surrounded by overwhelming need? Do you go for the young mother with a baby that needs feeding, an adolescent who needs to fund her education, which in turn will at least in theory result in her whole family being fed, or the children who are looking after their siblings because of sick parents. I am trying to recall my paltry year's worth of social anthropology studying the Yanamamo tribes of Western Samoa for inspiration. But from memory all they seemed to do was consume vast quantities of hallucinogens and spend their afternoons pro-creating. Now I am thinking about Maslow. All these needs are bottom rung, so how can I hope to differentiate between one person's need and the next and then prioritise them? Answers on a post card.
The rest of my weekend revolved round food with The Green Pepper (Khmer/Thai restaurant) offering me my first taste of Amok fish, which is so prevalent in PP. Delicious, cheap and it did not come back to bite.
And the Lazy Gecko's Sunday roast preceded by a trip to the Boom Boom Room made for a very relaxing Sunday. (The Boom Boom Room allows you to download albums for 75 cents a piece by selecting titles from a catalogue, Argos style).
Just to revisit the Green Pepper for a moment. I had arranged to meet Colleen from the Hash there for dinner. Colleen is a post-doc aid worker doing field research in PP in and around subject areas which I will touch upon later. She is a new "friend" with whom I could go travelling in the provinces with.
When you live and work abroad (which I have only ever done in Europe) you develop the skill of acquiring phone numbers in a predatory and prolific fashion. It is borne out of a common situation of being relatively alone in a foreign land and sharing that experience, rather than finding you both enjoy banter, salsa dancing and cinema. This I find hard - those people I would define as friends I can count on the fingers of one and a half hands - they are there for the duration, rather than as a transitory thing. So I am yet again having to adjust the way I think, to add a new perspective and dimension to how I relate to and trust other people. This can only be a good thing. Sometimes I am just way too earnest for my own good.
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