Ryan and Annie's Wedding

Attended my 3rd wedding in Cambodia since I've been here. Not saying there isn't much to do in this town but it seems that when people are pressed for something to do they resort to having a wedding (holding a BBQ doesn't really rate here).

This edition involves Ryan (fellow teacher from the States) and Annie (fellow nutter residing in Phnom Penh). Ryan arrived in Cambodia at almost the same time as myself and has been seeing Annie for most of that time.

If your not familiar with Cambodian weddings that means you have not been reading my blog (so stuff you and go and read the other entries). The morning ceremony was not attended by myself as it was at 6.00am and I never attend anything that starts 6.00am. Only attended the reception in the evening. Virath (close personal friend) was part of bridal party and had to get up at 4.00am to be made up and have hair done.

Virath (far right) and two other thirteen-year-olds made up to look older.


Cambodian weddings involves changing into various outfits during the day (sometimes upwards of 10 different changes). Below are 2 of my favorites of the groom. The first is Ryan with his grooms-men (or back up band from N'Sync, not sure which). He was meant to wear the same but refused. The second is a photo of the outfit he had to wear for the cutting of the cake (a pair of horn-rim glasses and white goatee - I give you Colonel Sanders!!!)





Annie's father (and Ryan's new father-in-law) is a policeman here and (to be frank) looks very mean. He was very happy at the wedding, but this is his 2nd daughter that has married a foreigner (see "Steve and Trea's Wedding) and I think he is getting fed up. Below is a photo taken of Annie and me (her dad is pointing a gun at me to ensure I keep my hands off her).



The father-in-law is 2nd from the left below and his boss (a one-star general) is on the far right (of photo and politics). The boss was invited as is custom and a large amount of Johnnie Walker was provided to him. Later on , while leaving the wedding, he almost run me over while driving very drunk his 4WD (along with police number plates).



Attending the wedding were Steve and Trea (Annie's sister) who I earlier wrote about. They have been married over 6 months now and the effect is starting to show on Steve. He is the first foreigner to attend a special education centre in Cambodia. He is accompanied most days by his wife/nurse.



As requested by some of the men who read this blog, here are some more random photos of women I've met while in Cambodia. (Note: The one in white is Virath, main reason for my extended stay in Khmer-land).

Vegemite used as a teaching tool.

One of my favorite classes at the school I teach is a mid level English course where the students concentrate on vocabulary and reading. It’s taught from a text book that introduces some pretty boring topics, but it gives me a chance to make it more interesting by adding some outside elements.

The one lesson which I get the kick out of the most (…sorry, I mean the students receive the most beneficial instruction) is the topic of ‘New Foods”. In it, we read about how different people from different cultures taste new food for the first time. It talks about Chinese people eating dairy products and Swedes eating shark in Australia (one word the students have to learn for the exam is ‘flake’). These people either like or dislike the food and the lesson is used to teach words that describe food, taste and personal opinion. The students get bored of this about 5 minutes into the lesson. I teach the same lesson about 4 times a day, so you imagine how ‘excited’ I get.

To emphasis the point about trying new foods I prepare Vegemite sandwiches for each class. Cutting the bread into quarters, I give each kid a quarter with Vegemite spread thick on it. (Note: Vegemite is sold in local supermarkets, but costs a lot more than home.) The kids sniff and look at the bread with a lot of fear. Some think it is chocolate and stuff into their mouths only to be overcome with disgust at the taste. I normally have to bring a bag into class so those who can’t swallow can spit it out again (roughly 80% of students).

PUC Student demonstrating teaching aid



Moral of the story is that the students tend to remember vocabulary such as ‘revolting’ and ‘unpleasant’ much better with the Vegemite than from just reading the lesson alone. On the exam I normally get a dozen answers that recount their experience of tasting Vegemite for the first time –

“The teacher tried to poison me with Vegemite.”
“One thing I could live without is Vegemite.”
“One kind of illegal drug is Vegemite.”

Number of students who plan to report me to police for attempted poisoning.


The next lesson after the “New Food” lesson is lesson about “Chocolate”. I do get a laugh out of the students who expect that after the Vegemite lesson, they will get some chocolate out of me.

School Trip to Rabbit Island

The middle of March saw the end of my 2nd semester teaching English at PUC and with it a week and half break until the next semester. One of the classes I taught planned a trip to the seaside town of Kep, near the Vietnam border about four hours away from Phnom Penh.

A typical class normally runs for 3 months with classes each day lasting 1 ½ hours a day. I’ve taught most of this class (impressively called ‘Intensive English for Academic Program: Level 2’) over the last 2 semesters so have gotten to know them fairly well and, more importantly, have enjoyed teaching them. The students are around 18-21 years of age and either preparing for or have started university. Though English is a second language to them, they are expected to complete their bachelors degree in English, so the course is designed to bring them up to a level where their vocabulary and writing skills are of an academic standard (…and I’m expected to teach them that?!?!?) A level 2 class is the half-way mark as students will complete four levels to advance.

This class had been planning the trip for some time and was keen for me to come along. The trip was planned for the day after the final exam and I was a bit hesitant about coming as some kids were likely to fail and my presence could have played a real party-pooping role. Decided I would mark the exams but lie to the kids and say I hadn’t. They could find out the results after the weekend, so I thought ‘let them enjoy the trip and the death threats could wait till later’.

About 20 of the class of 35 assembled art 5.30am (?!?!?!) outside the family restaurant of one of the students, Nay Houy, where breakfast was had. This wasn’t a bad turn out as a lot of students are rarely allowed by parents to do much more then go to school or go to work. Cambodia isn’t the safest of places and many of the parents have lived through 20 odd years of civil war, so it’s understandable that they are reluctant to let their children out of their sight. Among the reasons reported by disappointed students include:

· Parents thought I might drown
· Parents thought the bus would crash
· Parents thought gangsters would rob us
· Parents thought the boat would sink
· Parents thought I might sit too close to a boy
· Parents thought people who live near the coast are crazy and have poor hygiene
· Parents thought I might eat poisoned seafood
· Parents thought I might get eaten by the naga (mythical serpent that inhabits the sea)
· Parents thought it was wrong to associate with a foreigner despite me learning a foreign language (personal favorite)

The students who were going were extremely excited as few had ever been to the beach before, so this was a big day out for them. We loaded onto a mini bus and took off for the 4 hour bus ride. I think the bus only sat around 15, but the 20 students squeezed in and were happy to be sitting inside the bus rather than on the roof which is common practice in Cambodia (students on the trip pointed and laughed at travelers such as these, calling them ‘Cambodian roof racks’). These kids are unnervingly sweet as they sang, laughed and played games the whole trip without a single complaint (in English anyway) but did ask to stop the bus 16 times to take a pee (that’s every 15 minutes). Cambodians students don’t piss or take a crap as a group for fear of someone seeing their private parts despite the fact that the rest of the country will piss just about anywhere (an excuse not thought of by any of the mums or dads – seeing the groin of a fellow student).



Unbeknownst to most on the bus (but I’m sure a relief to all the parents) was that we were being followed by student Nay Houy’s parents. I think the sight of me, looking somewhat groggy at 5.30am, maybe prompted them to accompany the group on the trip in their own car. After about 3 hours of driving, the father rang Nay Houy and told us to divert of the road to Kep to make a stop at the family’s salt mine (not exactly DreamWorld). Salt mines bring to mind slave labour camps and prisoners of war and the sight of the mine proved it to be correct.

The mines cover a huge area of fields separated into water-logged squares of 50m by 50m. A couple of squares or paddies are worked on at a time as enough salt has formed to be collected. Once one paddy has been cleared of salt, the workers move onto the next paddy, and so on until they work their way back the original square. The workers sweep the salt into little mounds, fill two baskets that are slung over the shoulder and then are manually transported to a shed where the salt s further dried.
If you were bored by this paragraph, imagine how bored a group of 20 students planning to go to the beach for the first were. Some of the students who had never seen the sea thought that this was the beach and were a little confused as to why everyone was so excited about going.



In an attempt to make the most of the experience, the students decided to participate in their all time favorite pastime: taking photos of themselves. Posing for a group photo is not unusual, but my camera was hijacked by the students who proceeded to use the entire memory card of the camera to take some 150 photos in a 20 minute period. The examples below are only a small fraction of the photos taken even after I deleted about 100 as soon as we got back on the bus. (After I got back to Phnom Penh I was in a awkward situation as many of the students requested copies of the photos. ‘All of them?’ I asked. ‘No, just the photos of me at the salt mine’ was the common answer.)



After the excitement of the salt mine, we traveled a further hour till we got to Kep beach. We had a lunch of seafood, rice and fruit by the beach prepared by the students (and the trailing mum). I’m not a big fan of fish, but the buckets of prawns were delicious (and very cheap, about $2 literally for a big bucket). I commented on how much I liked the prawns and then I was showered with unshelled prawns by students still mindful that I had yet to mark their exams (brown-noses). Seafood was followed by local fruit. Am yet to correctly identify any Cambodian fruit other then bananas and coconuts. Students take much delight out of me eating some fruit that I obliviously have no idea about. They piss themselves giddy seeing me eating something they normally would spit out or throwing away what they think is the best part of the fruit (took mental note of these students and deducted 5% from exam).

The beach wasn’t our final destination as it turned out. We were to proceed onto Rabbit Island (named so because if named after any other animal would scare the shit out of the parents who did let their kids come). To get to the island we boarded a couple of boats that sailed for 30 minutes. Despite the short trip, we were equipped with inflatable vests and distress whistles. The fearless young students braved the sea with abandon…until they remembered that the sun shines. Cambodians are paranoid about getting the slightest hint of a tan (white is good, brown is bad). Drowning (despite parents concern) is preferable to coming back ‘sun-kissed’.



Rabbit Island is a beautiful place with pristine beaches and clear water (which is unfortunately a rarity in this part of the world). There were only a few tourists on the beach, but is becoming increasing popular because of the ‘off-the-beaten-track’ nature of the place. There are a few basic beach bungalows ($10 a night) so you can stay for the night and a couple of simple restaurants/bar that can provide you with mainly seafood (you can get crabs or lobsters that are still in their pots on the shore).



The main attraction for the students in coming to Rabbit Island is the opportunity to swim despite the fact that none of them can. I’m a poor swimmer but can manage to float about for a bit. My teaching duties were extended to swimming coach with pretty poor results (Ian Thorpe couldn’t get these duds to swim). The students were content just to splash around only a few metres from the safety of the sand. Along with their fear of getting a sun tan, Cambodians take off as few clothes as possible when swimming choosing to swim in t-shirts and shorts (given my beer gut, I opted to cover up as well). A couple of rubber inner tubes were rented, but any attempt to drag them out any further then knee high water was met with shrieks and a dash back to the beach. To be fair, in the water was some kind of jelly fish covered in spiny needles that hurt like hell if you stood on them.

Cambodians don’t go long without eating. If you ask a Cambodian what they may be talking about at any given moment, the chances are that they are talking about either what they have eaten, what they are eating or what they will eat. On board the boat to the island came another course of seafood and rice for consumption by the group. This was eaten around 4.00pm and by then had been the third meal of the excursion not including snacks eaten on the bus trip. Some more swimming, a walk around the island and further photo opportunities, and it was around 6.00pm and time to go home. By the time we left the sunning was setting on a very full day. We returned to the bus and made our way back to Phnom Penh. Our bus driver who didn’t make it to the island had been sucking down beers in our absence and was in a pretty happy mood. Driving at night at about 80kms per hour on poorly paved roads with a drunk driver meant that I wasn’t as sleepy on the return trip as I might have hoped to have been. Regardless, I arrived back home safely and said farewell to the class. Really good day and a highlight of my teaching gig so far.



P.S. All, but 2 students who didn’t come on the trip, passed the final exam. Take note parents.

Blood Flows on the Mean Streets of Phnom Penh

A couple of months ago I had had accident on my newly acquired motorbike. I bought an old Daelim, which is manufactured in Korea (by the way it runs, I think in North Korea). It is a clunky old thing that was owned by a local who used it as a part time taxi. Daelims are only used by taxi-drivers in Cambodia. To make the comparison back home, it would be like buying a Yellow Cab and continue to drive around with the yellow paint work and taxi signs. I get a lot of laughs from other moto-drivers who snicker at the sight of a white fella driving a Daelim. Students at my school think there is something wrong with me. But other taxi-drivers are always interested in how much I paid for it.


Example of a Daelim being used as a school bus.

I have never driven a motorbike before coming to Cambodia (and licensing doesn't exist in this country) so I learnt just by riding on the roads in congested Phnom Penh traffic. Despite a few months of experience I am still pretty crap at it. There is no clutch on these bikes, but you do have to change gears and I get confused between the gear and brake pedal.

One night I was driving home and was looking to turn left (Note: they drive on the right here, so another difficulty for me). There was on-coming traffic and in Phnom Penh you have to be pushy to get anyway as no one will stop to let you in. After a few frustrating moments I decided to go for it when it appeared that there was a break. I didn't judge very well a bike coming towards me that was going a lot faster then the others. I hesitated and before I knew it he had t-boned me in the side of the bike. If I had been a bit more affirmative I should have kept going and he would have missed me.

He didn't hit me with any great force and only succeeded in knocking the bike over, but it landed on my leg. Despite wearing jeans, the hot exhaust pipe on the bike managed to burn a rather large hole in my calf. My most pressing concern at the time though was the crowd of locals standing around my bike and the other taxi-driver. Regardless of whose fault it may have been, in an accident if you are white "you're not in the right" (anyway it was my fault).

The crowd was expecting me to pay the other driver compensation for damage to his bike and/or person. He didn't appear very hurt and his bike looked like it had been in a few accidents anyway. Acting quicker then I did on the bike, I pulled out $10US, forked it over to the other driver and took off. Given the other times I had been ripped off by local cops or market sellers, this was pretty cheap (and a better option to a mob beating).

Getting home, I discovered a 10cm by 3 cm part of my leg missing. The exhaust pipe virtually melted the flesh away, there was no skin hanging off. Went to the chemist who pronounced 'Not very good' and gave me some anti-septic and bandages. The wound took about 3 months before it stopped pussing up and finally scabbed over. The shot below is about 2 months over the accident.

There is still a pretty mean looking scar left that I doubt will ever go away (my Cambodian tattoo) and I've discovered that this injury is very common in Phnom Penh. Once the subject is brought my you often find a number of others showing the scar on their right calf from a hot exhaust pipe.

Cambodia is fun.