Tokyo: Tables and the Open Future

I wrote a bunch of posts while I was on the trains going hither and thither, and I still need to format and photo-ify most of them.
I was recently hesitant to post this one and I don't know why.

 Tokyo: Tables and the Open Future

Tokyo, like many things, is both hated and loved by me. I always used to say I like to visit and wouldn’t want to live there, but now I wonder if it’s not just the reverse of that. The thing I hate in Tokyo is the combined weight of lost-ly carrying a bunch of luggage in stations so incredibly full of people I don’t know how to maneuver. The truth is, stations would always be full of people, but if I were staying for a lengthier time, I might not have a suitcase under my arm at all times, and I might know exactly where I was going, which would mean I would spend a heck of a lot less time wandering sweaty and forlorn through a station that begins to resemble a clusterfuck the longer I spend there searching. This was in fact the case on Tuesday, but I get ahead of myself.

(Tuesday, just for the record, I visited the Mori museum in Roppongi Hills and had a wonderful time with a fellow PEPY JET friend and generally felt like one of the luckiest people in the world.)

What a pleasant spot on such a pleasant day

Mark shows how to interact with this map display.

The view from my lunch spot.

My lunch.

Monday, I had the delightful opportunity to stop in Yokohama and have lunch with Baye McNeil, author of Hi! My Name is Loco and I Am a Racist and of course, Loco in Yokohama. Alessandro and I had the chance to interview him for Impetuous Windmills. We waded through a Yohokama downpour to enjoy some seriously good ramen and seriously better conversation. I’m really pleased to have met this genuine and down-to-earth guy, and I hope to again some future day.

Talking with him made me think about writing in a more serious way again, and brought to the fore of my mind the story which I know I’ve mentioned and which everyone must think I have since abandoned, but I promise I have not, and in fact its development, to this point long and slow, has become something more like a boil after years and years (like, ten) of ridiculously slow cooking. For that story, ideas keep popping, and all the while I grow less and less satisfied with the level of the writing work previously done on it.

Anyway! Once I hit Tokyo and made my way up to the Orientation Info Fair, I was promptly installed as a PEPY representative. I met my fellow table-mate and we meshed well, as we were able to share different experiences from PEPY adventures. She having been on the ‘real bike ride’ (The PEPY Ride, across Cambodia), and me having been on a modified one-week adventure. I was also able to provide some photos from our Himeji rides, which I ended up thinking was and easier thing for new JETs to get into, idea wise. It’s difficult, the moment you land in Japan, to immediately start your planning to go on international trips! Much more accessible, I thought, is the idea of exploring your own prefecture by bike while donating to a good cause.

I’ve been back and forth from the PEPY website, especially before and after our winter break adventure, and I do want to mention that I respect what they’re doing out there a lot. Their whole teach a man to fish (or teach a village to educate itself) thing is something that I really get behind. More on this momentarily..

The table next to PEPY was the PeaceBoat table. I think I had looked over some PeaceBoat info before, I know I donated some money through them in March of 2011.. I did not really understand their voyages, though, or maybe I looked at them and thought the participation fee was pretty high for me and my life, or maybe IF I realized they were looking NOT for participants among JETs, but people to work on the boat as English teachers, I noted at that time that I did not have the time to spare, as the boat voyages are around three months in length.

But for a recently… retired? JET… you must understand that the moment I understood that I could apply to be an English teacher for mostly Japanese participants on a boat voyage around the world, the moment I looked at a map of the next planned voyage and understood that one could be part of that, doing what I already have the skills to do, and sail around the world with free time at various ports of call all over the world, I could have swooned, the prospect seemed so intoxicating (and to be honest, still kind of does).

(You’ll be pleased to know I was decidedly against applying for the voyage leaving in mid-December because I intend to spend the holidays at home this year, no matter how tempting the boat route map was for that voyage.)

It would be a little presumptuous of me to just assume that out of what must be a relatively large pool of applicants for a relatively small number of spots on a voyage I would be selected, but in this I am a little bit presumptuous. In the same way that I knew – see, I didn’t want to be a JET, I just knew I was one, or that it was a perfect fit.. that I could be good at this, that this could be good for me—in that same kind of way, I suddenly felt like being an English teacher on a PeaceBoat voyage was for me.

So I guess this is what I mean when I title this “The Open Future.” I don’t really know what I’m doing after JET, and even if I were to go on a voyage, from what I understand most teachers are limited to one voyage (in some special cases, they do take on repeaters), that wouldn’t be a ‘real job,’ that wouldn’t be ‘my future’ or the rest of my life, it would just be the next adventure, a three-month chance of a lifetime the way JET was a three-year one; it also wouldn’t have to be next, or now. It just seems like ‘now’ is when I ‘don’t have any plans,’ or at least not a job.

But that’s what I realized in the same moment, the open future. I had all but forgotten the ties I left behind, which I am sure it would take time to restart, but the jobs I did have, in Kansas, the beginning of a background in a few different things. I’m not worried about what to do when I get home because I believed I had options, even if I had forgotten what they were. I remember them now, Kaplan if I want to work in private education for GRE prep or maybe even ESL. I’ve been a substitute teacher and I know I would be better at it now than I was then (though I maintain that being a sub is hard, and I don’t know that I wanna… the fact remains that I probably could). And if, at the end of a year, I had gone from nothing at all to having started these things, I believe that given proper time, there are lots of options.

People tend to ask me in line with finishing JET, ‘where to next.’ I have always believed, even if they don’t quite, that the path forward lies for me back toward where I began it. Not absolutely necessarily in my hometown or even state, but I have always just assumed I would ‘end up’ in America sooner or later. Those who know me more recently, without having seen my roots, tend to think I’m an international, a wanderer in some ways, and maybe I am. But that isn’t what I want to be forever.

Still, I can’t deny that I still feel that, at least after I get the chance to be back for a while, to reconnect, to readjust, to move past this particular life I’ve had for the past few years and dust off the clean slate, there is an appeal, a draw in the world-wide-view, in believing there is more out there to do and be done than I can do or could have seen from within the previous parameters of vision I once had.

I talk about PEPY a lot, but I’ve hesitated to mention that I still feel drawn, as often as I do research on it, to go there and do that thing, not forever, of course (ideally, the real hope of PEPY and the folks there is to become phased out as unnecessary), but for a little while.

So what does that mean? Three months on a boat? A year in Cambodia? Will I be back in Japan for any length of time in the future? I shrug and say I don’t know, that I have ‘no plans.’ It’s not a lie; I don’t.  I can’t hope for any of those things until I’ve spent three months in America. Or maybe a year. Doing what? I feel a little silly sometimes, to say “I don’t know.” Only because I think maybe the listener will assume me careless, listless. But once, having to say that would have panicked me. Now, I’ve been me long enough to see that I am never idle for long. And so long as opportunities exist (as they quite obviously do), I hope that I will continue to be the me that at least seriously considers taking them on.

New Year's and The Next Beginning

In case you aren’t aware, New Year’s is one of the biggest letdown holidays there is. It’s always bigger, shinier, and more awesome in your mind than it ends up being in real life. Even “I spent New Year’s in such-and-such place!” is often cooler in stating than in actual experience. For example, I’ve had New Year’s in Tokyo, and in Las Vegas. In Tokyo, we stood shivering in the grounds of a temple, waiting to hear the bell toll, while TV-host type people went on as if they were a variety show (but that whole thing was, I think, a cultural experience). In Vegas, we went out into the street for the countdown to midnight, or as far into the street as we could get with the way the crowd was pushing us back; couldn’t really see the sky for fireworks, then immediately went back inside to continue gambling (I’m not saying this wasn’t a fun trip, I’m just saying gambling is something you can do in Vegas anytime). At least in my case, the images of me partying into trancelike states that the phrases “New Year’s in [insert big city here]” conjures are mostly on the false.

As for this year, I figured since we’d got up at 4 (again), we weren’t likely to last long into the night, and maybe we could see the first sunrise or something from either some other hill of Angkor’s area, or even from the roof of our building. Yut said that pub street would be full of people, but I pictured a seething mass of American/Australian/European holidaymakers getting wasted and screaming in my ear and I figured it was safe not to expect a big/fun night out for us in Siem Reap. We got Mexican food for dinner, then moseyed over to take a look.

This captures the general feeling well! With Nohea and Brian.

And Yut and Simon

And, happily, as often happens, having low expectations turned out to be a blessing. There was dancing in the streets. Foreigners, yes, but Khmai too, and none so drunk as to be obnoxious, and minus all that horrific toxicity of smoke that fills the air in dance clubs, but music fit for dancing. Yut stayed with us, and some of his friends coalesced out of the crowd and we all danced together behind the speakers until almost 12, when we went in front of the speakers. Shortly after midnight, we progressed in sleepy stumble back to the hotel. A few of our group went on their own sojourns, but of course I like to sleep, so I turned in pretty much immediately.

And then, it was 2012.The next morning, we had hotel breakfast, and rolled out a bit later than usual to travel to Kbal Spien, which is home to the “Valley of a Thousand Lingas.” A linga is a pillar (or phallic symbol) associated with the Hindu god Shiva. “But wait,” I hear, “I thought all this temple stuff was Buddhist, not Hindu!” Good catch, dear reader, and you are correct! But a lot of Cambodian stories and imagery tend to combine Hindu and Buddhist ideas and images together. A good example is that Buddha-protected-by-Naga thing we saw a lot (lot) of. Naga is not a Buddhist image, originally, but was adapted so that one tradition blended with and served the other.

Anyway, Kbal Spien is one of the oldest sites in the area, and the carvings show Vishnu and other Hindu imagery all over the place. There is also a medium-small sized waterfall… bigger, we were told, in the rainy season (of course).

Lingas!

People were playing in it when we arrived, and Yut asked if any of us wanted to go in. I was hot and sticky from the day’s walk, but wasn’t sure how it would be possible to go in, what with my clothes, my shoes, my camera. Still, if I was going to be damp, it might as well be from the river rather than from sweat. Nohea said he wanted to go in, but not alone, so I handed all my stuff to the others, took off my shoes and overshirt, and walked right in. The rocks under the fall were slippery-smooth and made for good water sliding. The fall itself was chill and refreshing. Of course I loved the idea of getting water poured over me in a river sacred since ancient times. This was another of my little magic moments, playing in the waterfall like a new year’s cleansing.

Waterfall as seen from above

I have an image in my mind of standing under a waterfall in Southeast Asia and seeing your path laid out before you, knowing what you want to do or become. This image is borrowed from someone else’s story, who years ago stood under a waterfall in Thailand and knew what he wanted to do with his life. But I saw nothing, knew nothing new, just that I will continue to pursue adventure and learning, and that I will never stay long in something I do not love, and I was very happy with that; it was enough. It also seemed a little related to a September dip in the crystal greenwaters in the Musasabi Canyon in Shikoku once before.

After this, we walked back down the path, stopping at a little sitting area for our Way of the Day with Yut. He told us about Right Livelihood and Right Effort while Nohea and I dripped on the wooden boards; some Korean ladies gave us candies. We trooped back to the van for lunch, where I drank yet more coconut goodness, and we shared yet another round of amazing and delicious food (you might think this would get old, but it never did) in an airy restaurant.

display pieces

Next up was the Landmine Museum, where we learned about the efforts of Aki Ra to find, uncover, and defuse mines, and also the home for injured children adjacent to the museum that he started up. As with a lot of what I saw in Cambodia, it was shocking and intense, but also.. not just a party of pity and blame. I was interested in his unorthodox way of dealing with mines (he preferred to use just a stick and his hands to find and take apart the dangerous items)… methods that got other people killed. Aki Ra (not his original name) was a child soldier years ago, and grew up using weapons, even setting mines. Now he continues to search for and clean up such things. We didn’t meet any of the kids who live at the museum, which is good, because they don’t need to be gawked at like display pieces.

The waiting area for you to wait on the slowest party member.. whosoever that may be.

We went back to Siem Reap, hit the bookstore, and hung out until dinner at our clubhouse, where Yut talked with us some more about the more recent history of Cambodia. Brian re-joined us for a post-dinner drink somewhere on pub street with thumping music next door (I had yet another coconut drink.. yesss) before we retired to bed.

The next day had no particular plans other than to get everyone on their ways after breakfast. Yut took us to the market and we had breakfast at the crowded counters.  My and Kam’s flight to Laos was midday, and we were on the first round of people taken to the airport. We spent the morning writing in one another’s warm and fuzzy books (little notebooks given to use by PEPY at the start of the trip, in which we were to write messages to one another but not read our own til we had gone) and packing up, reminiscing and sharing stories.

And then we were at the airport! Kameron, Miriam (who wasn’t yet sure if she was flying to Laos or heading back to Japan via Korea), and I, all fairly tired, maybe feeling like we were now carrying something rather important even if we weren’t sure yet what it was, or how to share it.

In several of my postcards, I said that Cambodia is farther away than any place I have ever been, and I still think so.. at least about the countryside village; not spatially, necessarily, but in many other ways, it is a place wholly different from where I am from, and even where I live now. Japan and America have a lot in common, actually, and while the differences are important, and are part of the adventure of being here, those commonalities are also comforting.

And although I am aware that there is a great deal taken for granted, in my life, and in the spaces around me, I had never before been to a place where the electricity only runs some of the time, where there is no running water, where objects are reused and repurposed not because their owners are deep believers in the eco movement, but because those are the objects they have, and these are the ways they want or need to use them. People don’t just use things up and throw them away out in the countryside because they can’t afford to, and because a thing isn’t really used up if it can be repaired or reassigned. And that aspect of it, at least, I don’t think is a bad thing.

The downside of subsistence farming is the way that, in bad years (like this one is shaping up to be), there is not a lot of wiggle room, not a lot of margin for error. If the crops fail, by fire or flood, then you are in danger. Outside of that (very real) danger, a lot of people seemed decently happy.

And I’m not trying to say they were happier, with their simple lives (to simplify the situation) than “we” are with our flushing toilets and 24-hour electricity. Just that they weren’t significantly unhappier because of a lack of those things. Their way of life is different than the one I’m from, but it isn’t any better or any worse. Except maybe that one bad year of floods puts their survival at risk, while the pace of consumption in mine puts our entire system at later risk.

But even just personally, going to a place like Cambodia makes you see, irrevocably, how silly 99% of your stresses are, how unnecessary they are, and it does this not by judging you, or by revealing those stressor to anyone, but just by being so full of people whose hopes and whose problems are so different from yours. And not because it’s all a pity party, or because “they have real problems and you don’t” – I think that would have just depressed me.. it’s that they are working on shit.

There are much bigger fish to fry, and methods are being developed on how to catch and cook them. And whether or not you are part of that, you have to respect it. And whether or not you can do anything for them, you can do something for someone. Especially you.

Especially something like, stop tormenting yourself and chasing yourself in circles.

It wasn’t “they have real problems so I should feel sorry for them.” It was.. if they can be grateful for what they do have, then I certainly can too. Lately, I’ve been reading a lot, from all kinds of genres, and between Guns, Germs, and Steel, and The Hunger Games, and coming back from Cambodia, it occurred to me again the other day that I’ve never really been hungry.

In my world that’s something you more or less take for granted because that’s how it’s always been. But that’s not everyone’s world.

And in the same way that the shocking devastation wrought by a tsunami on hundreds of thousands of strangers moves me to silence and tears, but the violent death of one single person that I knew brings me a different kind of mourning because it’s real in a way that numbers and even TV images are not.. the fact that some people in the world are or have been really hungry is much easier for me to grasp when it’s someone I know, and especially respect. Because of war, my grandmother was hungry. Because of hunger, she never wasted food (it’s a habit we inherit). Because of poverty, people are hungry; when he was a kid, it was Yut.

And for me, who has always had enough and more than enough, for me from a culture where thin is in because we’ve outdone ourselves on ‘food production,’ and are in danger of too much intake with not enough movement, for amazingly blessed, lucky beyond all reason me, well… one can feel only gratitude, which diminishes the other stuff to nothing, just as shadows are so naturally decimated by sunlight.

It isn't something permanent. It's not like I went to Cambodia and was 'cured' of taking things for granted, being selfish, focusing too narrowly, making irrational demands on comfort... but it was a little bit of clarity that I will try to remember as I go forward.

Angkor Who?

Angkor Wat is the most well known landmark in Cambodia, and also the biggest draw for foreign tourism. I had the following conversation at least eight times:

Japanese coworker: Emily, are you going back to America for New Year's?
Me: No.. I'm, um, going to Cambodia instead.
Japanese coworker: Cambodia?! Whatever for?
Me: Um.. well, Angkor Wat..?
Japanese coworker: Ah, of course! Angkor Wat, how cool.

It was a little different with the people who had seen my poster/whom I had begged for money for our required PEPY donation. So you're going down there to volunteer? Well, not exactly... But it seemed too complicated to explain in that mid-hallway standing situation that voluntourism is lately coming under criticism and there are other ways to help. That patching a school's roof or repainting it in a weekend between touring Angkor Wat and getting cheap massages is not the most effective aid to education in a developing place.

But I digress. All I mean is, "Angkor Wat" were the two words (Angkor means city, and Wat means temple) that launched my mysterious winter vacation trip out of the realm of ridiculous/altruistic and into the more comfortable vein of tourism. Add in the fact that I majored in classics, love ancient things, and spent one of my best semesters in college exploring ancient (often temple) ruins in Roma, and we've got ourselves a deal.

Sunrise was sort of a group decision, not something I would have come up with on my own, but which is apparently a familiar notion to locals. At Aqua (the bar) the night before, when we said "we've got an early morning," we were met with knowing nods and "sunrise at Angkor Wat eh?" Which was only frustrating because we kind of thought we were special.

So much for that

But once again, we were up in the dark, this time whisked through the early morning chill by tuk-tuk to the ruins site, where Yut lit our path with a little flashlight and helped us find a great spot to wait on the steps of the ancient 'library.'

On the library steps

  So here's Angkor Wat as revealed by the sunrise. It actually was kind of cool, since we'd never seen it before, to have it slowly emerge out of the pitch dark.

Break for jumping picture (we kind of look like the towers, here)

Back to reflection pool

And then some more jumping.

The library roof.

After the sun was well and truly up over the temple, Yut took us to get breakfast, and then we set off for Angkor Thom, the bridge to which is lined on one side with gods and the other with demons. Both teams hold one long Naga serpent. 

Gods at left, demons to the right

Next was Bayon (which is within the walls of Angkor Thom, if I understand properly), the smiling faces temple, where Yut pointed out various features and then let us explore the area and climb on things. We got to touch noses with the ancient kings. The four faces each pointing in a different direction is symbolic of four qualities a king should possess to be a good monarch.

Eskimo kisses with kings

Baphuon was next, also in Angkor Thom; we climbed up that too. I think that might have been where the king had to go be with a goddess in the form of a serpent. Yut taught us a lot of things, but I can't remember many of them now. It was a little frustrating to be on sites that felt so historical and meaningful and to not be already steeped in knowledge of what their significance was (to contrast with my exploration of ruins on the Centro program, even if I didn't know about a place, I had a much better grasp on the context, and if you said when it was built or used, or by whom, or for what, I could easily get my head around it and therefore retain it). But I tried (and to some surprise, succeeded) to just not worry about that and simply enjoy the day!

On top of Baphuon with the friends I made by saying one word of Japanese

After this, we took a break for some coconuts (which will cure what ails you, perhaps even broken hearts, should you drink enough of them), then moved on to Ta Prohm. This one is particularly famous nowadays for being the location of some of the Tomb Raider movie footage. It also has some seriously gnarly cheese trees eating up the old stones.

Group photo by the Tomb Raider door

One thing I DO remember is this guy:

  Yut said he is Time, the Destroyer, and they put him over doorways because nothing will escape his jaws. Not even the stones, apparently, escape time's destruction.

After Ta Prohm, we stopped for lunch, and played silly word games, and passed stories around. Yut even shared a thing or two about his childhood and family. It's at this point that I'd like to say something about Yut, because he spent six days with us, and his guidance and presence (well, on top of a bangarang itineraty put together by the PEPY team) is what made our trip what it was, and after speaking with a few others who spent a day or two or four in Cambodia and who were, by the end, just so ready to get the hell out once they were done, I know that the.. something else about this trip, the important thing that I keep thinking I somehow (by writing about all the things of all the days we were there) will be able to express through a blog, that had a lot to do with Yut as well.

I like to catch people off guard with my camera.

 Maybe because you filter a little of what you take in through those with whom you surround yourself, and maybe because that happens even more markedly in a foreign place, where you don't know much, where you are uncertain. Our group loved Yut (we kept talking about him in Laos once we left), and I think we were special to him too. As a professionally licensed guide (he even had to wear a special uniform on days we went into the Angkor temple areas), he is of course knowledgeable in the details of historical import. But that something else isn't from that.

I'm a pretty skeptical and defensive traveler. Whenever someone tries to sell me something, my initial response is always, no, why would I need that. I don't want to hire someone to do what I can probably do myself with a good informative book and lots of research time. I don't like being sold things. And I'm not a very good salesperson. What I'm trying to say is, I don't hope to convince you of anything, I'm just telling you the things of which I've become convinced.

He managed to make us feel more like he was sharing Cambodia with us than anything else. He was the guide, yes, but he also asked questions, and shared his enthusiasm and curiosity. Yut has spent ten years (that's one-third of his life) as a Buddhist monk, studying in temples, so when he shared the "Way of the Day" (we learned about one or two of Buddhism's Eight Ways each day), it was always from a very genuine place. He was always friendly, not only to us, but to anyone and everyone we passed. He speaks English fluently, and of course Khmer (Khmai), but somehow knows not only how to say hello in a ton of other languages, but also when to use them (that is, he can tell if a tourist is German, French, Japanese, etc.). While we were looking at carvings on the wall of Angkor Wat, some guide-less travelers asked him a question about on particular figure in the whole wide wall of figures, he explained it happily. He also disarmed every person that approached us, seeing only rich, pale, tourists (partly by not looking like us, I guess). He exchanged greetings with the children, gave us recommendations on when we could find items cheaper somewhere else.

I guess the best way I can describe Yut is genuine, although while discussing him, Kam and I tossed back and forth words like "inspiring," and "so funny," also with that special Cambodian smile. Yut is a good guy. If  you are going to Cambodia and want to meet him, he can be found at www.angkorwalkers.com, and he comes with our highest recommendations. I am aware that part of how well our group got along with him has to do with our group as well, but I'm sold; if you can't get Yut because he's booked, get a good one, because it does make a huge difference in your experience.

That library again

After lunch, we went back for the big one, Angkor Wat, and walked around inside. Dress code is enforced (shoulders and knees covered for both women and men). Angkor Wat is, I believe, Yut’s bread and butter, and he explained the carvings, reliefs, statues (some present, some missing), pools and stones, bullet holes, and all. Again I wished I were more aware of the history of things, that I could recognize the names of the kings being said to me, but I had to settle for recognizing them from previous talks and references during the day and the trip.

I think he got used to hearing me pipe up from wherever I was lingering back from the group (caught on some carved picture or other), “Yut! Question!” But eventually I was satisfied with the amount of information absorbed.

Not our best jumping photo. But Angkor Wat! 

Something about the color of the sky in all my photos makes them look a tad fake. 

 Aaaand finally, it was time to go back and take a nap and get ready for the evening. Because our Angkor Wat day was also New Year’s Eve!

Yut is the last one standing.

Sights and Sounds in Siem Reap

Our temple tour, post-blessing

   The next day was our only non-Yut day, where our guide was Sarah instead, of PEPY tours. After our breakfast at the hotel (at which the waitress laughed at me a little because she brought me like... three breakfasts), Sarah met us to bring us to the temple where we would receive our Buddhist blessing. We sat in a way that was more difficult for us than the Japanese seiza has become, and a group of three priests chanted and flicked water on us. It was really nice, as I like spiritual things. I was a little self conscious of the skirt I wore that only just covered my knees. We had heard from Yut about the life of a monk, since he'd been one for ten years; they have strict rules about what and when they can eat (no dinner, no food after lunch!), and they aren't permitted to touch women at all (not even their family members!). A youngish monk gave us a tour of the temple's grounds, which were generally bright and peaceful.

Our next stop was the PEPY offices, where we would learn get to see more about who they are and what they do. We heard first from the PEPY Cambodia side, the NPO, about their programs in Chanleas Dai, both currently ongoing and also those previously tried and phased out. I have a lot of respect for the work they're doing there, not least because it's very hands-on (it's so frustrating when decisions are made "high up" at a level from which their effects "on the ground" aren't clear), but it's also community focused and driven, meaning that they're veering hard away from giving a man a fish, so to speak. They're teaching the children to fish, instead.

An example is the Child-to-Child program, where children work together to think about issues in their own communities. They have to identify and research issues that they see around them, and then discuss possible solutions. But not only this, PEPY is working toward the eventual goal of phasing itself out, which is logically the goal of any NPO in a developing area -- the idea being, the area gets underway and once the ball is rolling, such NPOs and their help become unnecessary. A good percentage of PEPY's personnel are Cambodian, rather than it being made up of westerners. Because, heck. It's Cambodia's issues they're working with, so it's Cambodia's people that ought to be doing it, eh? All part of the avoidance of just giving fish (stuff), and developing people instead.

Cambodia is a really young country, and in that way, it can feel like the opposite of Japan. Japan's problem lately is falling birthrates and an aging population. Too many old people, and not enough youngsters to support them. This is of course a problem economically, but it also changes the feel, and that's not something I really noticed until I contrasted it with the Cambodian thing. Cambodia is full of young people and kids, and their issue is not a matter of lacking vigor/energy (like Japan?), but their need is wisdom (the kind that comes with age) and teachers. The old need the young for their strength, and the young need the old for their knowledge.

Katie and I in the tuk-tuk on the way to PEPY office

Because of the experience I have, education is my pet issue. In general, I'm a fan of the idea of teaching kids how to learn, how to ask questions, how to think critically, how to problem-solve, rather than just giving them facts and information. In today's world, memorized facts are less and less useful. There are so many things I either never knew or have forgotten, but I know how to find a lot of them (I confess that mostly the method is "google that shit"), and that's good enough for most situations.

Next we visited the PEPY tours office, right next door to the NPO. For me personally, it's nice to see things in real life, so I can imagine them better. For all that I like writing, written descriptions of things fall rather flat on me. I like to stand with a thing or in a place to really understand it.. I have to be there to get it. A lot of PEPY people were either out in the field, or else getting ready for the PEPY Ride, their big bike trip across the country (which I kind of.. er.. hope to attend next year, so I'll be working on that soon, hopefully!), but we did get to meet some of the staff, and I noted that their offices had a friendly, warm feel to them.

Food side of market

More of food market

Sarah took us to get a delicious noodle lunch, and then we were off to the market, which was jam-packed with goods and sights and smells, all kinds of fruits and vegetables and meats, prepared foods in one section (Kameron got a banana leaf of sticky rice), ingredients elsewhere, and in another area, souvenirs and clothes, odds and ends. Anytime you paused or even glanced at something, you would be immediately accosted by the voice of the booth's proprietor (at least in the souvenir section) urging you to buy something. I've never been especially good at haggling or bargaining, and I kind of hate having someone hang right on me as I shop, so this didn't always play well with me. But, I do like to get things on the cheaps, and in Cambodia in the market, a lot of things are on the cheaps, so it was a dilemma indeed.

After the market, we walked back along the river, stopping for an ice dessert along the way. She brought us back to the hotel, pointing out other places of interest along the way, then sent us on our merry 'free afternoon' way. We returned to the market and ran a few 'errands' (I needed some more knee-covering pants for the temple visiting), then had an early pizza dinner, before beginning the search for a pool we'd heard about. We thought we found the building that had a pool on the roof, and as we climbed the stairs we heard music and crowd-like noises... but it was just a skating rink! We laughed about that for a bit, then redoubled our search efforts. Eventually we did find Aqua, a bar apparently frequented by expats (one of whom had a really cute dog that reminded me a lot of Karma), complete with in-pool bar facility. We swam around, then caught out tuk-tuks back for a reasonably early bedtime, since the next morning was to be a super early start-- up at 4 again, this time for sunrise at Angkor Wat!

Skating rink, not a pool

Karma-like

Into Siem Reap

The morning of the 29th, we packed up, patted Tupaco (the half-tailed cat at homestay) farewell, thanked our homestay families, and departed after a breakfast involving another round of the strong, thick coffee and condensed milk (I got the bottom of the pitcher one day, and may have asked they group if anyone wanted my "coffee paste"). The drive back to town was pretty long, more window-staring, some soul-searching maybe, or just observation.

We arrived at the Mandalay Inn and dropped off our things, then got some lunch in town. Someone prophetically dubbed our lunch spot "clubhouse II," and we would return there more than once during the course of our Siem Reap stay.

On the roof of Mandalay

Since we'd been in the village the night before, and a wedding was in process that week, we'd again been woken very early by the loudspeakers, not to mention the ever-present animals (that goose...), who all seemed to awake simultaneously about 20 minutes before dawn (dawn was 6:30). The hotel was equipped with showers (!) and individual beds, and also a small rooftop gym for Kameron, so we all got a bit of relaxation before our sunset bike ride towards Tonle Sap Lake.

In the late afternoon, we rented mountain bikes and set off south for Phnom Krom, a temple atop a hill overlooking the lake.

As mentioned before, this year saw some intense flooding in Siem Reap, so whatever condition the roads are normally in, they were in worse shape this winter. I was glad to be on a real mountain bike and not China Downtown when negotiating the under-construction road, pitted and also dotted here and there with construction crews, complete with their mud layering and gravel. The tires slid and kicked up Georgia-red-clay-colored mud onto my legs and clothes, but I was happy to be moving, and under my own power too.

The road that leads to Phnom Krom also leads to the floating village; in the lake area, flooding is normal, and everything is either built up high, or else floatable. We didn't see the floating village, but if we'd had another day, it might have been the addition. We rode past rice fields and restaurants, and lots and lots of houses, delighting in the mud and breeze and slanting sun.

From partway up the steps to Phnom Krom

From further up the steps

Amongst the ruins

Our sermon on the mount.

We climbed up the steps to Phnom Krom and walked through the active temple area to the temple ruins. After looking around there a little bit, we took up a spot on the hillside facing the sun. Here we had our second "Way of the Day," wherein Yut explained another of the Eight Ways of Buddhism. I thought of them more as his way of telling us about the 'true meaning of Buddhism,' and this instance in particular as the sermon on the mount. Yut was a monk for ten years, so I consider him pretty well studied.

Sunset over Tonle Sap

We watched the sun on its way down, but we had already been told that we couldn't watch the whole sunset, because then the sun would be down, and we'd be biking home in the dark, and that was not the plan; also we had dinner plans with some people from PEPY. We lingered too long, though, and even though we hurried down the mountain and biked fast through the buggy evening past houses setting out their dinners in the fading light, night fell over us as on the road back. I was in the lead, being a speed demon and having been given the go-ahead, navigating the darkening road (it was a straight shot, so no one was worried).

I was soon using the light of passing cars to see the road and it's changes. I stopped caring whether I went into the roughened patches or stayed on the smooth part of the road. Up ahead I saw where the road changed to a stretch of gravel. I was nearly on top of it when I realized it wasn't a stretch of gravel, it was a my-height pile of gravel, but then it was too late and I rode headfirst into it. I imagine from the side it looked really comical, because from the side it was really obvious that I was biking almost full speed directly into a stationary object, but from my perspective the morph from flat road ahead to vertical pile was instantaneous and shocking. Kameron almost crashed into me. I was fine (it was a little exhilarating), but also willing to take a spot further back in the biking line as several group members passed me trying to extricate my bike from the gravel into which it had softly sunk.

We got back and cleaned up to meet the PEPY folk for dinner and discussions about development and foreign aid. Those after-dinner discussions were like being back in college: read this article, argue on this side of the issue, then switch. It looked to me like they were pleased with our academic exertions, and it reminded me personally of what I miss about being formally in school.

But then again, one need not be formally in school to do things like this, eh? So here's to always being in the process of learning something.