moderatelyExcessive

Sorry I haven’t written. Here on this page, that is. All I’ve been doing over the past month is write. English. Khmer. English. Khmer.

Want to know about the educational system in Cambodia? I’m a good man to know. Public grammar school? Gotcha. Public university? Uh-huh. Private degree factory? Mate. I’ve removed the names of the schools from my previous post in exchange for some freedom to speak about them.

The experience has been as broad as it sounds. The Khmer traditional shyness in the classroom for fear of losing face was a tough nut to crack at first, but I’ve since figured that one out… use the Khmer love of karaoke against them. Trouble is, I’m often finding out what lesson I’m teaching less than 3 hours before class, making advanced preparation nearly impossible.

I’m fairly certain that given enough time, I could contruct an entire core English curriculum using only Beatles tunes (if someone hasn’t already). The titles alone are a treasure trove of material for tense instruction: the conditional (If), simple future (I Will), present continuous (You’re Going to Lose That Girl), et al. Defeating the simplistic Khmer sense of time in terms of grammar has proved a tougher foe than I anticipated, but strides are being made.

I’ve had it relatively easy the past few days, since Khmer people generally don’t show up for school for the three or four days following a test. This practice is so widespread and accepted that many schools have stopped scheduling classes for the week after every test.

I’ve also learned that when one’s class is scheduled to be on prepositional verbs, one should come to class ready to teach prepositions, verbs, and prepositional verbs as if they had just been invented moments ago. That first class on the Passive of the Future Perfect Continuous was traumatic for everyone involved, and my thoughts go out those who lost loved ones in the fray.

Oh, and my Khmer is coming along just fine. I’ve got a written vocabulary of about 100 words, mainly because my spoken vocabulary needs to relearned now that I have some understanding of the alphabet. It’s much more straightforward than it first appears. A post on Cambodian script is definitely forthcoming.

I’ve been working hard, but haven’t been at a loss for adventure. Not at all. An inordinate number of stories contain or spiral from flat moto tires in the darndest of places. The experiences have been so great that I laughed as I pushed my moto the first few inches after my last flat, not quite sure how far down the red dirt road I had to push it before I came across a ‘mechanic,’but completely comfortable knowing that when it has happened before, the first person I’ve come across has graciously gone out of the way to help me before I’ve even asked.

Today, my birthday, I’m making a day of kayaking to a few of the nearby undeveloped islands, coming back to my apartment and having a traditional Khmer dinner with my landlord and her family, then teaching for two hours, and then some completely irresponsible drinking, most likely. I’ve saved a special treat (or trick) for myself tomorrow and a post about it will be accompanying this.

Okay, so yesterday was my birthday, and since I didn’t get to post the video before now, I have to write a bit more… I can’t leave the birthday stories untold.I made my way to the beach to rent my kayak, but only a few minutes after I had arrived, a few friends showed up completely unexpectedly with a birthday cake and a present in tow. They knew I was headed to the beach, but the beach stretches for five miles in each direction. They spent the better part of two hours walking the beach in the hopes of finding me. So incredible, and so unexpected. When they eventually found me, we shared my cake with the family whose shack I frequent. So beautiful and perfect. That one of the world’s best birthday cake icing fights broke out later should also be mentioned. I’m still trying to get icing out of one of my ears.

We spent the better part of the day at the beach, but by late afternoon I had to head home to prepare for my night classes. I changed and grabbed my supplies for school and headed to the café I go to almost every day before classes. My best friend there, Sai La, and the other employees made my usual iced coffee, but the wait seemed extraordinarily long. It wasn’t until ten people came from the back of the café with a birthday cake that I figured out that I was in for another birthday party. Sai La and I had talked about our ages and birthdays a few weeks ago, and it was mind-blowing that he had somehow remembered. Sai La doesn’t actually know when his birthday is (The Khmer Rouge destroyed all of those records and anyone who could have told him). Little Sorya, Sai La’s niece, threw on a karaoke disc with Happy Birthday on it while Sai La dimmed the lights in the café and brought out a beautiful cake. The singing seemed unusually loud, and it turned out the father in a tourist family in the café shared my birthday. So we shared the cake, coffee, and beer, and soon enough I was off to class.

When work was over, I visited my friends Mom and Srai Mom at their restaurant/guesthouse. They had offered me a drink made from a very special family recipe less than a week ago, and I decided it was definitely something to save for my birthday. I knew the recipe involved Chinese medicine and whiskey. The rest wasn’t clear until the contents of the jar eventually settled enough from being carried to reveal silhouettes in the murk, and I choked back enough of my horror to ask what it was that I couldn’t see. For the record, this recipe contains:

5 bottles of 90 proof whiskey
1 bottle of Hennessey
21 Tarantulas
1 Cobra
1 section of Elephant Lung
1 portion of Tiger Arm
16 Crickets
5 Frogs
3 sections of honeycomb with accompanying Bees

In all possible cases, the animals were placed in the whiskey while still alive, in order to capture their spirit. I don’t know how comfortable I am knowing that I now contain the spirits of 21 Tarantulas and a Cobra, but it’s too late now. Mom had told me that one glass was enough for six months, and to take it like medicine.

So I did.

Afterwards, a few Khmer friends took me to a Khmer dance club/restaurant where the house band consists of two very beautiful women, two handsome men, and a homely looking ladyboy. The five of them were told it was my birthday, apparently. Midway through dinner, one of women led me to the middle of the empty dance floor while one of the guys introduced me to the crowd, announced it was my birthday, and invited all the single ladies to take turns dancing with me while the crowd joined the 5 hosts’ bizarre take-off on the Marilyn Monroe Happy Birthday schtick.

I don’t feel much different, post-special drink, but the past twenty-four hours have been as fortunate as yesterday. Maybe more so. I found my newest apartment, and I couldn’t be happier with it. It does have a primitive bathroom, but I can deal. On my way back to my current place from my new one, I stopped my Mom’s to thank her for that godforsaken drink and an Australian man overheard our conversation and asked about the concoction. He didn’t want any, he just seemed fascinated by it. We chatted for perhaps fifteen minutes, and as I went to leave, he asked me to wait while he retrieved something from his room. He came back in a minute’s time, and dropped a1 carat diamond in my hand. It’s a man-made diamond, but it is no cubic zirconia — it is absolutely brilliant, with 96 facets.

He explained that he buys them relatively cheap in Hong Kong occasionally, and felt compelled to give me one. He didn’t explain any more than that. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so dismissive of the awesome power of Cobras and Tarantulas after all.