The worst has happened. In this tropical country where sweating is synonymous with breathing, the worst has happened.

The air conditioner in my room broke.

I arrived in my room one night after work to discover that the second most important electronic in my room (the first being my laptop) had stopped working. I decided to turn off all the lights and channel my inner monk and just sit as still as possible, and maybe I would be able to last the night. HAHAHAHAHAHA YEAH I lasted about 5 minutes before I went downstairs to inform the front desk of my destitute situation. I went to eat dinner and returned to my room a few hours later to find two men standing on my furniture and performing open-heart surgery on the air conditioner. Needless to say, I couldn't stay in my room that night, but kids, it's important to look on the bright side of things. Like, when you get kicked out of your room, sometimes you get upgraded to a MUCH BIGGER ROOM:

The room had a seating area. For friends. Let's move on.

This actually happened like over a week ago, so I'm glad to report that I've happily settled back into my original room. I only had to spend one night in the larger room, and while it was nice to frolic around the extra space, it was annoying transferring things from old room to new room, like my pillow and toothbrush and pajamas. Plus, it made for a silly sight for the other guests.

Anyway, besides that riveting anecdote, I've got more to tell you! Such as! I took a cooking class!

It began with a tour through the local markets:

Mmm, tiger fish. You shall encounter my stomach acids later, and you shall lose.

The instructor led around our group of 12, and my fellow students-for-the-day were comprised of Australians and Lithuanians. They were fascinated by the live scuttling crabs and grossed out by the butchering meat and gutting fish stands. For the New Yorkers -- I mean come on, have you guys walked through Chinatown or Sunset Park? I grew up looking at this stuff. But I wanted to fit in. So I pretended to be grossed out too. Peer pressure, it never goes away.

I really wanted to try this sticky rice that everyone else ate, but the flies buzzing around the stand deterred me from partaking. HA! Peer pressure didn't get me this time.

We finally got to the cooking school and someone pointed out that it felt like an Iron Chef set-up, while someone else thought it was more like a Hogwarts Potions class:

We started off by grating carrot and taro to roll and deep-fry some vegetarian spring rolls:

Then came the big kahuna -- fish amok, which is a staple dish here.

First, we had to pound all these ingredients into a paste. Lemongrass, garlic, shallot, and some other ingredients that I could look up in my book for those of you who will undoubtedly run out and buy the necessary ingredients to recreate this dish in your kitchen.

This was a lot of work. Like, a lot. Or maybe I'm just extremely weak. We pounded for about 20 minutes (THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID HA HA HAAAA), during which time someone in the group decided to harmonize with some chanting. Australians, they're funny.

Then the fun part!

Banana leaf cup! I made it! Mommy look I made it myself!

Tiger fish, not so tough anymore, tucked inside my cute banana leaf cup and placed inside my even cuter steamer.

So beautiful.

After minutes of sweaty labor, mama & her baby.

Other proud parents.

Question: why was I the only one who dumped the fish amok onto their rice? Everyone else would take a bite of fish out of their little leaf bowl and then eat a bite of rice. HELLO this is totally the better way to eat it. If you had pasta and marinara, you wouldn't eat a bite of pasta and then take a sip of sauce. YOU MARRY THE TWO TOGETHER AS NATURE INTENDED. I don't know why this matters so much to me.

So the other day, I walked into this restaurant that was up my street for lunch. It had no sign, no menus, and no customers, but I figured you can't just turn tail and walk out. It turned out to be a really nice meal. It was a family-run place, and a 15-year-old girl named Monica took my order while her grandmother served me up a bowl of noodles. Monica asked if she could sit and talk to me, and since my only companion was my book, I said of course. She wanted to hear about the U.S., because her sister moved to New Jersey a few years ago and she wants to go there too, but her parents want her to stay and work at the restaurant. When I told her that her English was really good (because it was) and that she'd probably do great in America, she beamed and was so flustered that she seemed to forget what to say in English. Anyway, she was super sweet and I hope she does get to go the U.S. soon and hopefully see more than New Jersey! Hahaha, insert typical Jersey joke here. Best part was at the end of the meal when she asked, "Hey, are you on Facebook?"

CAUTION: Seriousness ahead. Skip to pictures if desired.

A few days ago, I visited the Tuol Sleng Museum, otherwise known as Prison S-21, and the Killing Fields. There's really nothing funny to say about the Killing Fields or S-21. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to visit these places because I don't do well being in such close proximity to sad things. I can read about war and violence and I can even watch some well-edited documentary about it. But standing on the actual grounds of where the events took place is something different and I'm not sure how I feel about it. There are photos of the people, there is still decaying furniture, and there are tools and instruments that lay around so unassumingly now. Maybe it's extra tough because the country is still healing so freshly from what happened. My tour guide turned out to be the same man that guided me around the Royal Palace two weeks prior. I had a really nice time getting to know him the first time, so we were very happy to see each other again. The minute I got into the car, he said that he'd make sure to take me to a shopping center after the day's scheduled activities because he remembered from last time that I'd wanted to go to one.

As we walked around S-21 later that day, he mentioned that as a teenager during the Khmer Rouge regime, he had actually stumbled upon the abandoned S-21 in 1979 and saw bodies still chained to the metal beds. Without really thinking, I asked how he happened upon S-21, and he ended up telling me how his family was in Phnom Penh when the KR entered the city and sent everyone to the countryside. Once they got there, his father was accused of being opposed to the regime and was sent away along with his mother to be "re-educated," and he assumes that they were executed.

It wasn't like it wasn't real enough to be standing in the place where the horrors happened, but to imagine that this man that I'd met only 2 weeks ago, who was so friendly and kind to me and always had a genuine smile and joked with me endlessly, was subject to the atrocities that the museum was dedicated to, was really tough. I asked him if it was difficult for him to give the tour, and he said that he still feels fear when he steps into the place, but he's glad that it's around to preserve what happened since the schools in Cambodia don't currently teach about the period. Anyway, he's an amazing guy; he went on to learn Russian and French and English, worked with the U.N. and with Human Rights Watch, and decided to become a tour guide so he could meet people and show them the city.

S-21, Building B

Barbed wire still up.

One of the makeshift one-person cells.

 

Kind of hard to see with the reflection but this is the famous photo of a prisoner and her baby cradled in her right arm.

Killing Fields

One of the mass graves.

The sign is self-explanatory.

Anyway, it was an experience, and not all valuable experiences have to be pleasant. Visiting the sites was a good way to reaffirm that nothing good comes from an unsympathetic "us versus them" mentality. Unless it's in sports, because damn it the Knicks will be a playoff team again one day and they will CRUSH ALL OPPONENTS.

On a much brighter note (brighter if you like me, that is), I will be getting on a plane in 3 days to fly back to New York! There are a few things I will miss about Phnom Penh, but one of those things is NOT my roommate:

This little guy has taken up residence in my room for the past few days. I don't know why he likes it here so much but he just refuses to leave despite my attempts to shoo him out the door. Fortunately, he seems to have the same sleeping schedule as me, so when I get tired of trailing his movements, he gets tired of moving, and we both call it a night.

EDITED: Oh my God, I just found another little guy in my room! So now you're inviting FRIENDS over?! Not cool.

I can't wait to go home and see EVERYONE, especially you, you, you, and you. Oh, and you.

Okay, so I suppose a blog isn't the best way to assure people that I'm alive. But since I've received no alarmed emails from anyone, I'm guessing you've all just intuitively chalked up my non-blogging to extreme laziness. Awww it warms my heart that you all know me so well. And as we also all know, the easiest way to make up for non-blogging is to bombard a post with photos!

We last left off at...my flight. This is going to be a long post. Let's just take this one step at a time then, yes? YES!

 

First, a quick tour of my room. The "quick" part is not by choice, but because my room can pretty much be covered by, like, two photos.

The smallest single room my villa offers comes with a king-sized bed. I physically counted and I could fit 4 of me on this bed. I literally just sleep at the end of it. I wish I could chop off the rest of the bed and turn it into a sofa or something.

Here's my bathroom, for those of you who are interested in that kind of thing. One time, I was squatting on the ledge of the tub and stood up too suddenly, and the shower rod came crashing down on me. I know the interesting part of this tidbit is why was I squatting on the ledge. I don't really remember. I think I was trying to dry my feet in some new way. This is too much information. Sorry.

There's a random ladder in the bathroom. I don't know what this is for, so I converted it into a towel rack. Maybe that's what it was meant to be all along. Because if it was meant to be an actual ladder, what is the point. If someone climbed in from my bathroom window, why would they need to also climb a ladder instead of just walking through the non-existent bathroom door? I suppose peering over the top of the wall there would exponentially increase the creepy factor.

Before I left the States, my travel assessment nurse gave me all kinds of warnings about the tap water here ("Do not drink the tap water! Keep your mouth closed while you shower! Don't even look directly at it!"), so I brush my teeth with the complimentary bottled water provided. Super Hi-Tech water. My teeth are sooooo gonna be cooler than your teeth.

This is the before picture of my desk until I got tired of the TV taking up precious space. As far as I can tell, it doesn't work. And as far as I can tell, I don't speak Khmer even if it did work.

So after about a week, I turned it into this:

The hotel staff placed it back on the desk during one of the clean-ups, but I put it back on the floor and I think they just relented. One time when I ordered food to my room, the guy asked if I needed help putting it back on the desk. I said no.

My room is on the second floor and this is the balcony right outside. Mmm, plants in bulbous pots.

View from the balcony:

I get a complimentary breakfast every morning. This is it. This is only it. Luckily, I have a deep love for eggs and bread, because it is the same breakfast every day. The gray slices are dragonfruit. Mmm, dragonfruit.

So it turns out that the IOM office is literally 50 seconds away from where I live. I've done the math, and that is approximately 90 times quicker than how long my commute was to Columbia. This is also great because:

CRAZY 

MANIAC 

TRAFFIC 

OH

MY

GOD 

WHAT 

IS 

GOING 

ON 

I 

WANT 

MY 

MAMA!!!

Every time I successfully cross a street here, I send a little prayer to Zeus. Traffic lanes are taken as a mere suggestion. Also, there are often no sidewalks, so your neck gets quite the workout from looking back, then front, then back, repeat ad nauseum, for all those motorbikes and cars coming your way as you're walking. You thought Manhattan was crazy. Manhattan has sidewalks.

The most popular form of transportation here seems to be the motorbike. I believe the legal age to drive one is 18, but there seems to be no legal age to be a passenger, because I've seen babies riding on them. I saw one particularly bad-ass baby STANDING on the front portion of it and holding onto the handlebars. That's when I realized that babies in Cambodia are braver than I am.

There are motorbike drivers that offer you rides, but if I do venture out, I usually opt for a tuk-tuk. I don't have a photo of a tuk-tuk, mainly because if you even make eye contact with a tuk-tuk driver, they will very, very enthusiastically and persistently ask if you would like a ride. So whipping out my camera and stopping in front of one to snap a picture would probably be unwise. But here is a quick Google image of one:

Pictured: Tuk-tuk, creepy passenger dude in sinfully ugly shirt not included.

The tuk-tuks travel on the same roads, at almost the same speeds, as the cars and motorbikes, and riding on one during especially hectic roads can feel like one of those amusement park rides where you're sure you're going to fall off, but you don't. Or you haven't yet. Heh heh heh.

OH! I made a video of a tuk-tuk ride. Man, this post is kicking the last post's ASS!!!

But luckily, like I said, I don't have to experience that if I'm just going to the office, since I could probably hop from my balcony onto my office's balcony: 

Our humble little office in the IOM building:

Paparazzi shot of fellow intern Elenor!

A colleague in the office, Ross, was appalled that I had not visited the famed FCC club, located on the Sisowath Quay riverfront with a FANTASTICCCC view:

The Tonlé Sap River, the only river in the world that flows both upstream and downstream! I believe that now, during the wet season, it flows north, but come November or so, it changes direction and flows into the Mekong. Pretty amazing.

Where the two rivers meet. Prettyyyy.

Shall I keep going? Is everyone still awake? We're on a roll, let's keep carrying on, eh?

Last weekend, I had fun times doing some touristy stuff.

The Royal Palace is very, very crowded on Saturdays.

The Royal Palace is big.

Oh God, I just realized that when I have to pose awkwardly by myself, I turn into my dad:

King Norodom Sihamoni happened to be home when I visited. In the following photo, the raised blue flag on the right indicates that he was chilling in his bedroom.

I would recommend going to the National Museum only with a good English-speaking guide. The museum's guide that I had was a tiny Cambodian lady who was very pleasant but unfortunately I could only understand about 40% of what she was saying. And the place cards by the exhibits are in Khmer so I couldn't even sneak peeks to get a better understanding of what I was looking at. The sculptures are pretty amazing though, given that most of them originated from ages ago (I think I could make out that one was from 2nd century B.C.E.) and have been put together again so completely.

Wat Phnom temple -- since I will not make it to Siem Reap on this trip to see the Angkor Wat temple, this is probably the only temple I'd have been able to visit. I'm an architectural neophyte, but this temple, like the other buildings I saw, is lovelyyyy.

I have to be honest though, the best part of the day was when I got to take a quick trip to the supermarket. My driver, like 90% of the people I've come across here, was extremely nice and took me to this lovely and modern market. 

Groceries!!! I can make sandwiches again!!! And I did. Oh, I did. I even found Laughing Cow cheese.

I'm kind of exhausted and I bet you are too, so I'll end this with a lovely meal I had the other day. There's a youth-oriented program called Friends International that works to help street youth by enrolling them in vocational training and then employing them at their restaurants for three years until they "graduate." They have two establishments, Friends the Restaurant and Romdeng, which is where I went.

The wait staff all wear t-shirts that either say "Teacher" or "Student" and the students take your order and serve you while a teacher stands behind them. I think our young waiter was particularly new because he seemed pretty nervous and unsure but it was lovely and he was endearingly great.

Unlike the tips-crazy mindset of America, where a cranky bartender who serves you a watered-down $12 cocktail expects a hefty tip, Cambodians generally don't expect tipping at all and they certainly don't ask for it. This really was a lovely meal though, and I happily stuffed their tip box.

Okay I think that's enough visual imagery to prove that I'm alive and well. Final note, it's easy to not read about home and just sort of ignore all the political knee-jerk stories associated with September 11th, but man despite all the problems that Cambodia is still going through, I can't help thinking that some areas of life are just so much more simple and earnest here. There aren't people constantly stirring up emotions and reactions for the hell of it because people are actually focused on, oh I don't know, food and work and school and family and friends. I'm sure that's a pretty general, ill-informed, blanket statement, but it's just the vague feeling that I get from my short, short time here. And that's my soapbox. Hopping off now.

MORE LATER, BUDS!!!!!