Mi Familia

My crazy, hilarious family, who, within an hour or so of sitting at the dinner table together, usually has me laughing so hard that tears cloud my vision; who stuffs me with more rice, meat and/or sugar than any healthy human should consume; who sends me dried apples from our backyard, lip stains and cast-off vintage sandals in care packages secured in medical tape; who fly to wherever I am in the world to help me pack/unpack, celebrate, cry -- on days like this, I miss you too much.

Perspective

Before

This is Boeung Kak Lake. I've written about it before, both when I first visited it, and when communities living around the lake were denied their right to peaceful freedom of assembly. The lake continues to be filled with sand by the developer, and so continues the displacement of its communities, many of whom have had valid legal possession rights to the land around the lake, established over the course of decades after the fall of the Khmer Rouge regime, under the auspices of local government authorities. The forced evictions arising from this World Bank-funded development will result in the largest aggregate exodus in post-Khmer Rouge Cambodia.

After

If I didn't live in this dusty city, if I didn't work with these communities, if I didn't (haphazardly) witness firsthand the lax, if at all present, rule of law in this country, then all I would see is this lake, slowly filling with sand. But that isn't the case.

When I see these maps, all I see are faces.

Another angle

via Witness

I've mentioned Witness (Brooklyn) before. I had never heard of them, prior to sharing a bus ride and a crazy few days in Siem Reap. Prior to moving here, I had never heard of many, many things. In fact, the term "forced eviction" wasn't even in my lexicon. And now . . .

If you are so inclined, Witness just published a short video of their work in Cambodia and the forced eviction issue. With what little knowledge I have about them, it's my understanding that Witness approaches human right issues around the world from a media/information dissemination perspective. I spoke to Ryan (the guy in the video) a bit about how he ended up in this work, how he ended up marrying his creative proclivities with law and international human rights work. Interesting stuff.

I sound like a broken record: people amaze me.

Spanish Tortillas

via The Dinner Files

A few weeks ago, Cristina invited us over for a night of spanish tortillas. I had two, maybe three, helpings, drowning the hot golden potatoes with a few glasses of wine. Delicious. And really simple -- at least, for Cristina it was.

Ingredients
5-6 potatoes, diced
2 onions, chopped
3-4 garlic cloves, chopped
7 eggs
1/4 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon sea salt, or regular salt
olive oil

Directions

In a bowl, mix potatoes, onions and salt.

Heat oil in pan. Fry potatoes, onions and garlic on low heat and cover with lid for 5-6 minutes, until soft. Turn up the heat for another 5 minutes. Remove potatoes, onions and garlic from pan and drain excess oil.

Break and whisk eggs in a bowl. Add milk and salt. Whisk a lot. Add potatoes, onions and garlic to the mix.

Clean the frying pan. Return pan to stove.

Heat a few tablespoons of oil in pan, and pour in mixture. You may have to move it around to help the tortilla rise. Fry until golden brown. Then, turn down the heat to let the inside cook. After a few minutes, turn up the heat in order to brown the tortilla.

When it is cooked, place a plate over the frying pan and flip the tortilla onto it. Fry the other side until it is golden brown.

P.S. Somehow, somewhy, during dinner with colleagues at Mark's place a few weeks back, I invited people to my home for Thanksgiving Day dinner. Why??? I don't cook. I'll have to fix that very soon.

Numbing

Next week, CK and Spence are visiting me in Phnom Penh! I cannot wait. Their visit coincides with a national holiday, one which empties the streets of the city for nearly a week, while families travel to the countryside, to wats (temples), to honor the deceased. Perhaps I'm exaggerating -- I'm sure the city will still teem with life that week.

What will they think of this crazy, dusty, fascinating country? Is it even that crazy? Mami, not too long ago, asked me if I had lost perspective, grown a bit numb. "I don't know," I wrote back. Maybe I have.

Last month, Rachel's brother visited from London. One night, a group of us sat on the second floor of Corner 33 Bar, looking through the glass windows at the gilded Royal Palace and National Museum across, then adorned with tiny triangular flags flapping in the wind. He had just arrived in the city, and, that evening, for a short while anyway, I followed his eyes. I followed their gaze to the hawking moto drivers below, to the women pushing their carts full of eggs and bread, to the rain drumming the windows, to the flooding streets, to the saffron-robed monks seeking alms, to the children begging, to the disorder and chaos, the continuous movement below. He noted, aptly, that encased in that air-conditioned bar, suspended above it all, removed, you could have mistaken this bar for one in London.

Although, as Mami pointed out, I have probably grown a bit numb to the everyday details, there are, a few things I will never grow accustomed to, sights and customs that still make me pause. Today, I can only think of two:

1. Babies sitting on moto bikes: Quite often, on the streets of this city, you see entire families encroached on one motorbike, including a baby wedged in between parents, or, far more difficult to see, wedged between a parent driver and the moto dashboard.

2. Playing chicken with opposing traffic: If you have ever hopped onto a moto bike to brave the streets of this city, you have likely found yourself riding straight into opposing traffic, weaving in and out of cars, motos, bikes, and people.

Of Note

David Eggers via Electric Works

My random weekend musings, in no particular order:

My favorite pictures of Phnom Penh so far: here. (And further support for the proposition that I should invest in a shiny DSLR.)

The beginnings of Cambodia's first architecture magazine? Love it.

Refinery29 reports on Jane Mayle's latest collaboration with Sigerson Morrison: here. (My heart aches just a little.)

Somewhere in the world it is fall . . .

via Secret Squirrel

Fine. I heart you.

P.S. I meant, somewhere it is fall, but not here: these are quite lovely perpetual summer clothes, the likes of which appeal to my inner granny (hello, tiny pleats and high-waists.). I do miss fallen leaves in Portland. And sometimes, I feel as if the perpetual summer that continues to brown my skin, providing with its warmth a non-stop offering of mosquito bites, is payback for all those years I complained about only having 3 months of Portland summer to don warm weather frocks.