Nothing

via David Horvitz

I did nothing yesterday, nothing but eat a falafel shawarma and read a book about the antiquated ways of former Soviet republics in the sun, and make (order) a dress made from the three meters of chambray material my Canadian flatmate left me, and thrift at Japanese Thrift, a charity that imports granny clothes exclusively from Japan, and nosh on the egg-tomato-baguette sandwich my new flatmate, an American high school teacher, made for me. My inner grandma is happy.

A few days ago, I received an email from my friend, Damian, who I met in Mongolia. In catching up, he closed by writing, "Make sure you scare yourself somehow in someway everyday!" I like that. It brought a smile to my tired face, in a way similar to these 2009 Notes, by David Horvitz, which entertained and inspired me.

But, just for the next few weeks, I'm going to be cautious about venturing off into new streets, especially dark ones: My friend Thida was mugged this weekend! Two friends in two weeks. What?!

Monsoons and Muggings, Revisited

via Deka Ray (found via Search Party)

I once had a slight obsession with monsoons and muggings in Cambodia, a fear that influenced nearly all of my packing decisions for my move. Let me tell you that what they say about torrential rain is true, all true. I realized this a few weeks ago, as Rachel, Thida, and I waded through the knee-high waters that consumed the streets of the city. On more than one ocassion, I have been held captive by the strong winds and the rain raging outside. And the other day, I purchased a "raincoat," a thin coat of clear plastic with a spray of bright yellow polkadots on it. (Becki and Cherlou, it is truly pictureworthy.) Clearly, I am adapting.

On the topic of muggings, people warned me not to bring any "nice" jewelry, not to carry a purse at night, and not to draw attention to myself otherwise. Earlier this month, Rachel and I laughed about this proffered advice (apparently, it reached those coming from the UK, as well), commenting on how silly it was.

This week, Rachel was mugged. They took her purse, her cell phone, and all the money she had on her, approximately $60 USD. This was a pity for obvious reasons, but moreso because Rachel has spent nearly 8 months of crime-free existence in Phnom Penh. She returns to London in less than two months.

Over time, this city can lull you into a false sense of safety. Just when you let your guard down . . .

That said, however, I will take my chances. Sure, I will take precautions when galavanting in the evenings, but I miss jewelry. That simple: I miss piling it on. I feel bare. It is one of the small things that reminds me of "me," though I admit that these days I look in the mirror, at the brown skin and the once-prominent freckles that now nearly blend in, and wonder who exactly that is.

Sorry, mum.

Oh, Cambodge

via Daylife/Reuters

The week is over, and I'm sitting in a dark corner of a cafe, thankful for good music and banana-coconut creme shakes. It is pretty quiet, and the only thing I hear, besides my tapping fingertips on the keys of my laptop and an Arcade Fire album playing in the background, is the drone of the fan, as it staves off the heat of the day.

What is it with the pace of life lately? On Monday, which I foolishly thought would be oh so quiet, so quiet that, as I waited in a meeting with the Boeung Kak Lake community, I pulled out my laptop and decided to peruse pictures from Sihanouk Ville for a few minutes. As the community members trickled in, I let my wander, to the next pair of shoes I would make, to the location of my missing third care package, to my lunch plans, when, all of a sudden, we were informed that the community would not be allowed to meet to discuss their strategy regarding the World Bank project and the issue of adequate housing conditions. Government authorities arrived, doors shut, and the crowd dispersed outside, angered, emboldened, and frightened.

The crowd of several hundred marched to another meeting destination. There, doors shut as well.

Searching for some place to meet and discuss, the crowd changed direction, walking toward the lake (quite a trek in the heat), before they were stopped by government officials again. Nowhere to go.

Before I knew it, I stood in the midst of an impromptu stand-off that lasted for hours in the main arterial next to Independence Monument (how painfully ironic), in the space between the community (represented that morning by many, many elderly pissed off Khmer women, I might add), and the police, military, and a SWAT task force waiting in the near distance, slowly swelling in numbers.

Freedom of peaceful assembly? Not in Phnom Pehn on that Monday morning.

You can read more about this here, or here.

Sihanouk Ville

Some Sihanouk Ville images from our visit last week, borrowed from a colleague:

1. The presently-derelict Sihanouk Ville railway station.

2. Grilled lobster, prawns, and fish -- cheap eats for lunch.

3. A young boy from a recently evicted family.

4. Sihanouk Ville beach, at dusk.
5. I really want one of those flower wreaths to wear.

Captive

via The Sartorialist

I want to dance.

I'm still clumsy, uncoordinated me.

But I have stopped caring.

This weekend, I attended my first belly dancing course, which was taught by an Italian woman, who kept saying, over and over again, with a mischievous smile on her face: "Move your hips the way you were taught not to, darling!"

And the rain, in a non-stop, violent downpour, held the five of us captive. So, she made us dance in a frenzied, Egyptian belly-dancing way for hours.

It was insane, and a little bit awesome.

Scratch That

via Cup of Jo (My Scratch Map)

You scratch off where you've been! You clever people, you.

The Railway

The last week has felt like three weeks rolled into one. The pace has been intense, with so much back and forth, up and down, several bumpy bus rides, and too many moto rides in the incessant August downpour. I spent the weekend in Sihanouk Ville, a coastal city that is known, by most, for its promise of self-indulgence and abandon. But it was no vacation for me. I went there to meet with families evicted from the ongoing Asian Development Bank's Greater Mekong Sub-Region project, which aims to rehabilitate Cambodia's now-derelict railway system.

Fortunately, there were still lovely moments amid all the heartbreaking stories. (Yes, we have established that I have a weak heart.) For example, I will never complain about having to eat grilled lobster and prawns for lunch, or about being able to end a long day with a book in hand, my toes burrowing into the sandy beach, and my colleagues and a crimson sunset accompanying me, or about being able to see this country from an entirely unique perspective. And, of course, there was the requisite rabblerousing -- an evening of hijinks and karaoke that still makes me chuckle. (Prior to living in Cambodia, I never did karaoke.)