<<< LAOS.

Aug 2: The Adventure Continues... That splash I heard was Jo-Anne.... who had dived into the murky waters of the Mighty Mekong, completely dressed of course. We just sat frozen in disbelief. Then she proceeded to swim to the shore shouting. "Help, Help!" Frankly at that moment I did not know whether she was drowning or what and feared to have to deal now with two problems instead of one! All of a sudden, the captain made up his mind to drop us ashore once and for all and he did so without even demanding his money anymore! We got off, hauled up the luggage and I was just about to deal with the Jo-Anne crisis when she appeared wet as a rat and absolutely beside herself with fury. By that time half of the town was on the pier, watching the show (It was certainly better than TV!) The issue was to decide what we were going to do about the payment. Jo-Anne and one of the Spaniards did not want to pay at all, the first one for obvious reasons and the second because we had been 6 not 4 passengers. On the other hand the other Spaniard and I thought we should pay regardless because they had brought us there and we had not discussed changing the price when they had added passengers. Finally we minus Jo-Anne agreed that we would pay, but less. In the meantime, the Madman of the Mekong appeared after having disembarked his victims and that was the last straw for Jo-Anne. She began to scream at both captains in front of the crowd who could guess what she was saying by her tone and her body language and at the same time because a Cambodian was doing instant interpretation to the two culprits who looked like they wanted to disappear 100 meters under ground! Finally we took off. Upon arrivng at our hotel, I gave Jo-Anne a big hug and treated her to a well deserved beer because even if I had failed to understand her reaction, I must admit that in a way she had been superb and was now one of the few (if any) foreign women who had swum to the Cambodian border! Of course there was a price to pay. Her drenched clothes were smelling terribly and all of her money, travellers cheques and passport were soaked through. She had been heroic and wet documents can be viewed as mere trivialities in the light of all the excitment we had been through!!!. They took a time to dry but fortunately she can still use them. August 6th, 2004 Cambodia is quite different from Laos. It does not have the rural, laid back feel of Laos but is just as fascinating in a different way. Cambodians appear a lot more subdued and do not smile as readily as their neighbours. However, it is hardly surprising when you consider what they have been through in the last decades. They are emotionally bruised people who went through a deep trauma during the Khmer Rouge years. Here there is an entrepreneur fever everywhere. This is not the gold rush but the "dollar rush". Everybody is looking for the little green notes. People are constantly busy, crowds of them like ants overflowing the streets, The sanitary and hygienic conditions are pretty appalling in the streets especially around the market areas that look like garbage dumps. At times I have the feeling that I am back in India, above all in some districts of Phnom Peng, which is formidable, polluted, noisy, colourful and crazy!!! Cambodians are friendly and warm up to you, even though many have $ signs flashing through their heads when they see you!! I spent one day in Phnom Peng and devoted it to learning about the suffering of the Cambodian people. The Killing Fields...WARNING: The following is quite graphic First Jo-Anne and myself we went to the Killing Fields of Choeung Ek, a few kilometers away from the capital. There we saw the mausolee where are kepts human skulls of more than 8000 victims, sorted according to their size and age. It was chilling and I felt nauseated. All around the site, can be seen gaping holes covered now with grass that were mass burial graves. There was even one for the children, innocent victims of this madness. To Choeung Ek, everybody suspected to be against the regime was taken to be executed, They were blindfolded, with their hands tied behind their backs and blundgeoned to death. After that their throat was cut. The "lucky" ones as was attested by their skulls that had the mark of a bullet had a swifter death. Jo-Anne and I we were horrified as we walked around the fields now so peaceful and green. During the Pol Pot years, it was FORBIDDEN: To Love, To Be Compassionate And Even To Think! The saddest part is that the Cambodian leaders did it to their own people. More than 17000 people were sent to that prison. It is estimated that about 100,000 died during the genocide years. I am stopping now because I have all these horrific images flashing through my mind and I feel like crying. After that we went back to town to visit the Tuol Seng museum, a former school converted into a prison between 1975 and 1978. We visited the tiny cells where the inmates endured so many sufferings, saw the instruments used to torture them, saw hundreds of pictures of the prisoners (some of them before and after torture), read the testimonies of the survivors and of the torturers and guards, who were just young kids trained and brainwashed by the Khmeres and who treated their own people with the utmost cruelty. It was almost too much to stomach in one day. Among the victims, children, teenagers, women and elderly all mistreated in the most abominable fashion and then sent to the place where we had been earlier to be killed. There are no words to describe how you feel when you are confronted with these images. All this bloodshed in the name of an ideology, and in that particular case an ideology that wanted to deprive people of their human qualities. August 10, 2004 The last time I wrote, it was about the atrocities that took place here only a few decades ago and I had to stop. The look in the eyes of the victims on the photographs still haunts me at times. The contrast between today and then makes it even more terrifying. Near the mass graves, the scenery is incredibly peaceful, almost pastoral with tranquil lakes near by, rice fields and clusters of joyful children following you around, clamouring "Photo, Madam, photo" and whenever you point your camera somewhere, they all chant in unison in English "one, two, three, smiiiiile!", probably learned from some of the tourists. I am learning to know and appreciate the lovely people of Cambodia. Yes, they are "out to make a buck" but who can blame them? Economically for most people life is tough, the competition fierce as it is overcrowded, and they have to make ends meet. However, they are pleasant, polite, genuinely kind, and they warm up to you quickly. To tour the Angkor sites, I had the choice between walking (unthinkable in the fierce sunshine and the occasional torrential downpour!), cycling (which I tried when I went to purchase my ticket. I nearly did not make it back alive with the mammoth tourist buses, the motorbikes and the tuk tuks passing me so close that several times I nearly ended up in the ditch!), riding at the back of a motorbike (risky for my prothesis and rather unconfortable!) or by using a tuk-tuk which is, in fact, the option I chose. A tuk-tuk is an open mini carriage on wheels pulled by a motor bike. I tried to select the driver with whom I would have to spend the next two days carefully, opting for a"mature one" in the hope that he would less inclined to race around! He was actually a rather prudent driver, had a dazzling smile and every time we would stop at a temple, he always seemed to bump into one of his "sisters" with whom he would chat pleasantly while waiting for me, despite the fact that he was a married man! A real Casanova. I nearly got "templed out". Up at five am. At the park at 6 am, relentlessly sightseeing. Every time I would arrive or leave a site, vendors among them many children would rush screaming, "Cold drink, Madame! Post cards, Madame, ten for one dollar. Souvenir, Madame," in a whiny, high voice. Sometimes running after my departing tuk-tuk in the hope that I might change my mind! The children here are amazing, working hard, speaking an incredible amount of English, displaying excellent vendor's skills and often with a marvellous sense of humour. Here is an example. I come out from walking around a temple, sweating profusely and looking for my tuk-tuk when half a dozen children approached me. A boy around 9 years old asks me the inevitable question... "Where are you from?" "The moon", I replied, trying to cut the conversation short. He laughs and says, "And I am from the sky! You want to buy from me?" "No,I do not need anything, thank you!" "Madam, you buy souvenir for father!" ..."I don't have a father!" "Madam, you buy souvenir for children!" ..."I don't have children!" "Madam, you buy souvenir for husband!" ..."I don't have a husband!" He looks at me curiously, rather startled and then persists, "Madam, you buy souvenir for brothers and sisters!" ..."I don't have brothers and sisters!" He pauses, then as if enlightened by a flash of inspiration, he inquires, "Madam, how you came here, by bicycle?" ...I shake my head in the negative. "By motorcycle? ...No, again. "By tuk-tuk?" ...I nod in assent. Then he says, "Madam buy something for tuk-tuk driver, souvenir of Cambodia!!!" Another example. This time, I am surrounded by at least ten children. One of them asks, "Where you come from?" I answer, "Canada!" They all chorus enthusiastically, "Canada, capital, Ottawa" I am a little taken aback. Another of these geography experts says with a cajoling smile, "Madam, you buy from me?" "No, I answer," trying to take on my best teacher's voice. "Madam, you buy from me," he asks again. "No, if I buy from you, I have to buy from the others." "No," he says triumphantly, you can buy bracelet. The others not sell bracelets. Sell flute, sell postcards, sell scarves." "I do not want a bracelet." "Okay Madame, I give you bracelet." He hands one to me with the same winning smile. "Souvenir from me." "Thank you," I reply, touched by his generosity. "Madam, you take photo of me!" he continues. "Why?" I inquired, surprised. "Madam take photo of me. When Madame come back to Cambodia, Madame remember me and buy from me!!!!!" I won't even pretention to describe the Angkor sites. I have seen the great pyramids in Egypt and Macchupicchu (the Inca site in Peru). However, here I must say that I have been swept off my feet. No words can describe the sheer beauty and majesty of this vast ancient Khmer city. Among my favourite: the Bayon with its eerie, gigantic enigmatic faces, carved in the towers. They seem to watch you in a merciless fashion wherever you go. Ta-Prohm, the "jungle Temple", left as is where Nature has taken over the ruins... the tree trunks and roots strangling the walls. Foliage, wood and rock mingling in a weird fashion. The temple is shrouded in shadows and walking there, I felt like an explorer discovering a lost civilization. During those two days, I admired, exquisitely carved bas-reliefs, some of them, the most beautiful in the world- I am not kidding!-, incredible stone, life-size statues like the elephants of Eastern Mebon that looked almost real in the distance and of course the celebrated Angkor Wat. I was there yesterday, at 6 am. It was drizzling and I had the temple almost all to myself. Just a few solitary umbrellas ambling around. I was stunned by the splendor, the balance and the harmony of this truly architectural wonder. You all must see it one day. It beats the Taj Mahal or the Chateau de Versailles!! Jo-Anne has left. She is flying home. We had fun together. I am happy to be on my own, however, to enjoy the rest of my trip. Traveling alone and in company has its pros and cons and I was lucky to experience both this time. Tomorrow, I am off again. This time, to Battambang... described in my guide as a quaint provincial town. August 12, 2004: Of Ants, Buddhist monks and a three year old swindler! Beware of Red Ants South- East Asia has its share of "creepy" crawly creatures. One learns to live with them. Mosquitoes, amazingly enough, have not been much of a bother, even in the areas where malaria is rife. The odd cockroach-sometimes of the flying sort!- has crossed my path but to behave quite harmlessly as a general rule... Geckoes of various sizes have shown up also, often very shy, darting away swiftly at my approach. And, yesterday, while I was visiting a distant temple, I saw, or thought I saw, the glimpse of an undulating oblong body in the grass. I did not linger to check whether it was a snake of the poisonous kind or not! In fact, the number one foe is none of the above: it is the ruthless, bloodthirsty red ant. It is around half a centimeter long or more, with high legs and always travels in well disciplined battallions. One learns to keep away from them as they have the tendency to concert vicious attacks against humans and this without being provoked. When they launch an assault, they always do so in great numbers and unless you run, you are bound to be defeated and devoured alive. I had my first encounter with them in Laos. I was walking around in the grass, just about to take the picture of the century. The wooden door of a monastery, laced with garlands of vines with in front an old well and a bamboo broom. Very rustic! I was taking my time looking for the best angle for this memorable shot, when all at once, I felt biten all over. I started to dance wildly, shaking out, in the process, clusters of these carnivorous creatures that had had the impudence to crawl up under my clothes, to the most remote and (private) parts of my anatomy! And believe me, their sting hurts. The red ants have cousins which are particularly fond of the indoors: bedrooms, bathrooms and I imagine kitchens. These relatives are black, tiny and they too move in organized cohorts. They do not sting but they are a nuisance in the sense that they are everywhere. One morning I found a few of them in my toothpaste. They had lost their unit and were swimming frantically not to drown. What a way to die! It Pays to be a Monk in Cambodia!!! The people of Cambodia are certainly very different from those of the rest of South East Asia. Their tumultuous history, the recent horrors they have been through in the 70ies, the destruction of much of their cultural and artistic heritage during the Pol Pot years seem to have made them do away with much of the traditionnal etiquette. You do not find here the refinement, polish and gentleness that you encounter in Thailand or even Laos. Cambodians are a little rough on the edges, very direct and as I am discovering more and more with a heart as big as their smile and a great sense of fun! In fact they are to me, the most interesting people I have met in this part of the world. Except for the groups of young men who lounge all day on their bikes by the market areas waiting for a potential customer to bamboozle, Cambodians, the children included, certainly work very hard. One group of people really puzzles me: the Cambodian Buddhist monks. They behave in quite an atypical way. Many of the older ones smoke! As to the younger ones, they frequently seem to act like rowdy High School teenagers. In addition, the monks here have a unique way to beg: in the early morning they stand in front of shops, restaurants and personal homes. They just stand there, rigid like statues until somebody comes out with an offering, usually money. The donor hands out his contribution, kneels down and with his or her palms together. The monk awards the giver with a quick mechanical blessing and then proceeds to the next establishment. An easy way "to make a buck" if you want my opinion! How I was embarrassed by a three-year old! One of the temples I really liked at Angkor is called Preah Neak Pean. During the splendor of Angkor, it used to be a bathing complex. It is quite well preserved and sort of isolated. I arrived there around noon to find, luckily enough ,the place completely deserted. No tourists or even locals in sight. I started walking around the stone pools, admiring the beauty of the ornamental spouts when all of a sudden, out of nowhere appeared a little boy. He was around three, scantily clad, with great liquid eyes and was staring not at me but at the two cameras I was carrying on my shoulder. I just smiled and said hello, eliciting no reaction from him. His attention was riveted on my cameras! Without a word, he started trotting behind me...I tried to engage some kind of conversation while we were walking but to no avail. Maybe my young companion had not learned how to talk yet, or maybe he was mute or excessively shy. After all he had not uttered a single sound. I took a few shots of the beautiful surroundings and then sat down. The little boy still utterly and strangely silent sat beside me. I showed him one of the cameras, demonstrated how to open and close the window of the lens. He was totally enthralled and started playing with the button, noiselessly. Then, I took the camera again, showing him how to look through it, aimed it at him and quite impulsively pressed the button to fix on film his cute little face. To my utter amazement, as soon as he realized that I had photographed him, he opened his rosebud little mouth and said, "One dollar!" I was stupefied! What a trickster! I looked at him shocked and said, "No!" My refusal did not seem to deter him as he continued to repeat like a broken record, "One dollar, one dollar, one dollar!". I felt trapped and cheated by the little pest. I got up and started to walk away. He stood up and followed me repeating, "One dollar, one dollar, one dollar!" I tried to reprimand him, to cajole him, to engage his interest in my cameras once again without any success. He was still going at it, "One dollar, one dollar, one dollar!". I was afraid that somebody would show up and find me in this ridiculous position... running away from a toddler shouting at the top of his lungs and without catching a breath. Finally the gods of Angkor must have been with me. An old man, a local, materialized in front of us with a bunch of incense sticks in his hands. My little tormentor stopped abruptly in the middle of his repetitive clamour and went to join the old man who was bending to light the sticks at a nearby altar. The child was watching truly fascinated and had forgotten all about me, thank God. Maybe he had arsonist tendencies as well as being a first quality con artist!!! If there is a moral to this tale, I'll let you draw it. August 13, 2004: THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES: On the way to Pursat!

The last time I wrote, I had boarded an overloaded pick-up and I was on my way to the town of Pursat after a rather troubling incident during which a woman tried to "give" me her baby daughter... So we were speeding by through pancake-flat but lush countryside. The passengers who could not afford the few seats inside were at the mercy of the elements. They were well prepared, however, with their "kramas" (Cambodian brightly coloured scarves made of cotton) covering their faces and necks to protect them from the dust and with their plastic ponchos or umbrellas just in case. All the people who had been precariously perched on the narrow roof, got off shortly after we left the market. I could not make sense of it until I saw the two policemen at the entrance of the bridge. The police here are tough and very corrupt. Ordinary Cambodians live in awe of them. They fine on the slightest pretext and heavily. After the bridge, we stopped and I was not surprised to see our roof passengers appear on the back of various motorbikes. They quickly climbed back up and off we went. The ambiance inside the pick-up was almost festive. I was in the front beside the driver and behind us there were one sulky teenager, a Cambodian man who looked quite well off with an attache case as well as a young

woman with her baby. It seems that on this trip I am constantly surrounded by children! The chubby infant was watching the scenery fly by and uttering shrill ecstatic chuckles from time to time. The mother had placed him on top of my backpack. He was in his birthday suit, squirming in all directions, like an eager worm wanting to catch what was going on. I was secretely worried that the baby in his evident mirth and excitement might forget himself on top of my luggage or even worse defecate!! But no suspect smells came to my nostrils... As to the driver he was as merry as the baby. In fact he was jubilant: the earnings of today thanks to my generous contribution were going to be above average. He was rubbing his hands, humming a tune and playing an imaginary instrument on his wheel. Everytime someone one wanted to get off, we would hear a loud knock on the roof. The driver would spring out to collect his due like a jack in a box and then spring back in.

We passed a number of of oddly shaped vehicles, some of them not immediately identifiable because of the load they were carting at the back. I saw an enormous pink pig, still alive on the back of a motorcycle. The poor creature was tied on his back, with its paws up in the air, attached to a bamboo rod. I do not know where they were taking him too. He had been freshly scrubbed and was in such a shock that he was not making a sound. During one of the stops, I also saw a young boy pedalling on a bicycle. The bicycle was obviously too big for him and he had to ride it upright. At the back he was carrying a gigantic sack stuffed with hay. At one point, the sack fell and he had difficulties putting it back on. Two passers-by had to help him.

We were making excellent time: the jolly driver had his foot on the accelerator in permanence. We stopped several times but always very briefly. Once we stopped in front of a private house. The wealthy looking gentleman at the back got off. He opened the gate and as he was entering the garden, a woman came out. The man gave her an envelope and then started talking animatedly... 5 minutes passed, then 10, then 15. We felt hot and sweaty inside the truck. The driver too happy to notice was counting and recounting his money to killl time. 20 minutes passed...I got out to stretch my legs. Our human cargo was cooking in their own juices too and covered in dust, waiting patiently, huddled like cattle. I walked around to the driver's side. Mister Attache Case was still deep in conversation. Suddenly, the driver realized my presence outside and snapped out of his monetary dream. He frantically honked the horn, aware that his best client was getting eager to move on. Mister Attache Case said his farewell hurriedly, ran back to the truck and at last we were off to the great relief of everyone. Paying for the best seat gives you rights and if it is to the satisfaction of the majority why not use them??? The driver was so happy about his day that after having reached the bus station, he told me to stay on. He looked at me quizzically under his red cap and asked: "Hotel?" "Pnom Pich," I replied. "Okay, Madam," and he took off in a cloud of dust to drop me off right at the door of my guest house!!!

August 14, 2004: How I became an instant wife & mother For the last two days, I have been travelling away from the tourist route. I have been roaming around the picturesque province of Pursat. Yesterday, I arrived in Battambang, the second city after Phnom Peng. I like its slow-paced truly provincial ambiance, its colonial architecture: it is the way I imagine the capital to have been many decades ago...

Anyway, I stayed at the Golden Parrot Guest House. By the look of the shabby entrance, it seemed that the Parrot in question had lost most of its feathers a long time ago! An older motorbike driver, dead set on getting my money, pestered me for a good ten minutes when I arrived at the bus station. I finally relented mainly because there was no other form of transport available. The guest house was in fact just 3 blocks away but he went around the adjoining market four times to lengthen the trip and better justify the fee he was asking!

At the Parrot, the receptionist seeing a lonely woman thought that he was going to get lucky for the night and touched my arm in the most familiar fashion, saying, with a compassionate look in his eyes, "You travelling alone? You no friend?" I immediately pointed at my mother's wedding ring, making him understand that indeed I had a husband (on business in Pnom Peng. (I usually say "Bangkok" but this time my intuition was telling me to make him geographically closer!) and even children, seven strapping sons... one for each day of the week! Living in Canada of course. I know that Jo-Anne, my former travelling companion will frown reading this and that I am violating one of the Commandments...but to really cut short any potential problems and to fit the mold expected, I have invented myself a spouse and children. By having seven strapping sons, I not only meet everybody's expectations but exceed them. Some of the men, look at my petite stature and put their thumbs up victoriously, for the job well done. Having children is good and having seven sons, on top of it... even better! I have earned not only status but respect! However, I must admit that until now I have been too vain to invent myself grand-children!

Now I am getting to the point of this story. Sorry about the digressions. I spent many pleasant hours in Battambang, strolling along the river and soaking in the local atmosphere. My next stop, I had decided, would be a small town by the name of Pursat, located at about 100 km from where I was. Even though I had seen very few foreigners I had been assured in the morning that there would be a bus, a real one, leaving at 3pm. I was even given the cost of the journey and told to come back to the station at 2pm sharp. So, I continued exploring the city, had a leisurely lunch and walked over to the station under a ruthless sun to arrive at the required time. To my dismay, I was informed that the engine of the bus had mysteriously broken down but that I was not to worry because

it would certainly be fixed for tomorrow afternoon departure! I was ticked off to say the least. I certainly did not really feel like staying another night in Battambang. When I asked about alternate modes of transport, I encountered some inexplicable reluctance. However, after much patient probing, I was told that there might be some form of transport going there from a small market nearby. Valiantly, I picked up my pack again to explore this possibility. The place was only a few blocks away. As soon as they spotted me, a group of young rowdy motorists approached me. They all told me with falsely innocent eyes that there was no transport to Pursat from here but from the Central Market, quite a distant away. One of them would be happy to take me on his motorbike! I must have been a pitiful sight by then, all sweaty and dusty! Feeling distrustful, I thanked them and then walked to a shopkeeper who unfortunately confirmed the information. This was not to be my lucky day, after all! I turned around to see if I could get a ride to the Central Market. But all the young bikers had disappeared!!!

Now, there was only one last resort. To retrace my steps all the way back to the main market and if unable to find a transport of some kind, to spend another heavenly night at the Golden Parrot Palace!! I grabbed my pack, mustered all the courage I could find and started walking when....(Miracles always seem to happen to the lone traveller in a hopeless situation!!!) I heard screams and saw a little man with a red cap running towards me gesticulating. As he was nearing me, I could make out what he was shouting. "Pursat, Pursat!" I could not believe my ears. I sped towards him with my pack jumping on my back, echoing back at the top of my voice, "Pursat, Pursat." We must have looked like a couple of lunatics! He took my bag and I followed him back into the small market where hidden behind the vendors was an open area full fo pick-up trucks! He stopped in front of one of them, still clamouring excitedly, "Pursat, Pursat." By that time, I had gotten the message! His vehicle was only half full and I knew that it would not leave before it would be grossly overloaded with passengers. When I asked at what time, pointing at an imaginary watch on my wrist, he answered 3 or 4pm with his fingers. A passing translator, a schoolboy helped us agree on the price. It would be $2, a handsome fee indeed, and I would have the privilege to sit in the front. Then all of a sudden, someone grabbed my arm and took me to another pick-up, overflowing with people, saying, "Pursat now, Pursat now". This car was obviously about to depart. Its driver opened the passenger door saying "One dollar!"(special price for last minute departure!) but really, where was I going to sit? The front seat as occupied by a family of 3, a father and his two kids plus a voluminous bag. There would about a quarter of the seat left for me! What was I supposed to do with my pack, carry it on my head "African style?" I politely declined and returned to my original driver who had accepted the loss of his rich foreign passenger quite philosophically. However, he was extremely pleased to have me back. He put my pack on the front seat, closed the door and took me into the heart of the market. There he installed me, on a magnificent plastic chair in the shade. I was, in fact on the vendors side and I could have opened shop had I wanted too. I bought myself a well earned coke after all these emotions and started looking around me contentedly. Everybody, I must say, gave me a warm welcome. I was the only "barang" for miles around, a great object of speculation and curiosity.

I befriended the young hat seller to my right. She and I had laughs while I was trying some of those hats that look so elegant on a Cambodian woman's head. On me they simply did not fit because of my bulky, unruly hair and gave me the appearance of Bozo the clown! People kept surrounding me, smiling. A woman who was selling trinkets on the other side put her very plump baby on my lap. The infant, with a rich chocolate coloured skin and huge round eyes looked more African than Asian. He was not shy at all and I took several pictures of him and his proud mom. Behind me, another woman, who was serving food in her mobile restaurant. She had two steaming pots hanging from each side of a bamboo stick and was carrying as well all the necessary cutlery, bowls, condiments.

Very ingenious and practical. Her current customers were a very destitute family of 4. The very young mother who had the exhausted look of somebody who has too many responsibilities to shoulder, with huddled around her three children in rags. A boy of maybe 6, another of 4 or 5 and a toddler, a tiny girl of no more than 18 months. She was very pretty, with blondish brown hair and beautiful almond shaped eyes. Unfortunately, she also had the big pot belly, characteristic of malnourished children. The mother was sharing a single bowl of soup among her brood. The little girl, between two spoonfuls, was staring at me truly terrified! I tried to smile but she kept hiding behind her mother's skirt as if I were some kind of monstruous sight! Then I attempted to turn it into a game. Whenever, she would peek back to see if the monster was still there, I would hide my face behind my fan and then pop it out waving at her! It worked! she remained cautious and unsure at first but after a few minutes, she was smiling at me and then laughing in glee! I gave her and her family some cookies and oranges to complement their meager repast and then went to check what was happening with my pick-up.

My red capped driver was working very hard at trying to fill his vehicle well BEYOND capacity. To an untrained eye, like mine, the truck seemed full, with passengers on the roof, inside and in the open back area. But obviously it was not packed enough. Every time, new people would arrive, the driver would pounce on them trying to entice them into his vehicle! In the meantime, the little girl I had befriended was looking for me dragging her brothers by the hand. When she found me, sitting in the front of the pick-up, she screamed in glee and we resumed our game of hide and seek for a while until the driver called me for an emergency meeting! He explained to me that there was only one place left to fill ,in the back seat but that if I were willing to pay an extra 50 cents, we would leave right then and there. All my fellow passengers were staring at me in what seemed a hopeful fashion, anxious to depart and I accepted to pay the extra fee. I got back into the car. Just as we were about to leave, the young mother with the little girl in her arms knocked on the window. I wound it down thinking that they wanted to say goodbye. The mom said something in Cambodian and made the gesture to hand me the baby. I looked at her uncomprehendingly. She made the same gesture again and somebody said, "She give you child".

I was utterly shocked and speechless and could do nothing but gape at her. The little girl, feeling maybe that something was amiss started to whine. The mother said something to her pointing at me. The child said, "No!" with her head shaking vigorously. Tears sprang to her eyes. She clung desperately to her mother's neck. I wound up the window quickly, waving goodbye and the driver had the good sense to leave right then and there. I felt badly shaken up. The mother in her innocence and ignorance of adoption requirements and legal paperwork had probably thought after seeing the way we had interacted at the market that I would be good to her child and that her baby would have a better life in the country I came from...How tragic. The saddest is the fact that a parent can entertain the thought of separating from a child because of economic necessity. Upon this grave thought, I leave you all hoping that you are well.

August 15/04: Of Cambodian nuns and monks

These last few days have been the highlight of this South East Asian trip, in part because I am off the tourist route and also because now that I am on my own, people approach me a lot more readily. I am enjoying the flavour of rural Cambodia to the full. When one travels there is always a place that stands out, that really touches your heart and that you know you will remember with great fondness. For me, such a place is definitely and undoubfully the city of Pursat where I am right now.

Pursat is a sleepy little town built along a lazy river dripping with sunshine drops. It has almost a Mediterrranean feel. Lots of stone houses in pastel colours with tiled roofs nestled in the foliage and a lively market under bright parasols. Here I have met the friendliest people of this trip. They stare at me with much curiosity and a serious demeanour but when I greet them, their faces light up and they reward me with the most dazzling of smiles. Nobody tries to sell me anything. They just let me be... always going out of their way to make me feel welcome.

My first visit was to the market. I needed new shoes, one of my sandals having sadly died! As soon as I entered, I became the focus of much attention. It was difficult to decide where to buy because there was an impressive number of shoe stalls all in the same row! Finally, I stopped in front of one of them and looked at a model made of sturdy rubber, from Thailand (the salesgirl assured me!) with a complicated set of velcro straps. It was the smallest size they were carrying. I decided to try them on... under the scrutiny of, well, I would say... at least 30 people! With all these eyes riveted on me, I was sort of fumbling with the many straps but I had two helpers one for each foot to tighten them for me.

The sandals were a good fit widthwise but they seemed to me a trifle long! I turned them over; they were a 42 and my size is normally 36/38! I had to verify this and asked for a mirror. Alas nobody spoke English and it took a good 10 minutes and an expressive mime on my part (I felt I was playing charades!) to make myself understood. Finally, one of the spectators saw the light and a mirror was dispatched to me from the other end of the market. Upon close examination, the shoes were in fact quite long and made me look like Donald Duck but I needed shoes and everybody appeared to think that they fitted beautifully...so I bought them! Shod with my new acquisition, I ambled away and decided to cross the river. In front of me stood a ricketty bridge. Kids were diving from it, splashing around with delight. It is extremely hot in Pursat and I would have gladly done the same. Fishermen were throwing their nets and bringing them back slowly, full of tiny silver fishes sparkling in the sunlight.

Buffaloes as bothered by the heat as their fellow humans were also frolicking in the river below. Crossing the bridge for someone uninitiated like myself was somewhat dangerous. There was no railing on each side and I shivered when I saw toddlers running on it freely. In addition for some unknown reason, it had treacherous gaping holes. One false step and it would be a big dip into the muddy waters.

On the other side, the scenery was even prettier. A brightly red earth path, lots of emerauld green vegetation and a profusion of flowers. Many wooden dwellings with huge earth jars in front and also some workshop with artisans carving marble (a local product of the area) into stunnningly beautiful sculptures.

At one point, I came across a Mosque flanked by a long building crammed with Muslim children making an incredible rackett. There were arms and faces coming out of the windows. There was much jumping and

monkeying around that increased tenfold as soon as they spotted me! The little boys were dressed in white or blue and had the ritual round hat on their heads and the girls were wearing brighter hues with a scarf hiding their hair. As far as I knew I could see no adult in sight to control these rowdy and riotous goings-on!!! It was hard to suppress the teacher's urge in me. However I did it... I just took a picture of them (which seemed to drive them even wilder!) and walked away. I walked for a little while and then decided to stop for a rest in the shade by the stream. After a few minutes two young teenaged monks appeared and presented me with a piece of paper without saying a word. Surprised, I unfolded it and read:

"You have invitation to speak with monk in pagoda," written in pencil in English. I looked at the novices who seemed to be waiting for a reply and asked rather foolishly, "Does the monk speak English?" They said nothing and disappeared swiftly. Amused, I decided to wait to see if something else would happen. As I had anticipated, they reappeared shortly with another written message! This time, it read: "Ï am a monk. I would like to converse with you in English. I invite you to my pagoda." This time, it was more explicit! And I followed them inside the temple grounds on the other side of the road. There, just outside of the monastery on a bench sat a monk of about thirty, clad in dark orange surrounded by novices in saffron robes. My host, a good looking man with the pearly smile of a movie star politely introduced himself. "My name is Chien Serin. I have been a monk for 17 years. Today is my day off (it was Saturday) and I would like to speak English with foreigner." As she had nothing pressing to do, the foreigner replied that it would be a pleasure to chat with him. I did not tell him however that his name as he had written it for me in my little book, came straight from the animal kingdom: "chien" meaning "dog", in French of course, and "serin" being the name of a kind of bird! Anyway, I introduced myself also. We exchanged pleasantries as well as views on a variety of subjects. Chien can express himself quite fluently. He is teaching English Monday to Friday to young monks as well as ordinary teenagers right there on the premises. He is currently in "retreat" for three months which meant that he cannot leave the temple compound. That is why he had not come to greet me in person. The novices were concentrating on our conversation with the intentness of fans following a table tennis match. They were learning English but felt somewhat shy to ask me questions! Every time I would look at one of them and smile, he would blush a deep crimson but smile back very sweetly. They were between their midteens and twenty. What struck me was their thirst for knowledge and their love of learning. They were apparently spending long hours studying "pali", an ancient Indian language to gain a better understanding of the Buddhist scriptures. Time passed ageeably. We laughed a lot and then Chien got up and invited me to go and visit the nuns meditating close by. I must explain. A temple is a place when the very young and the very old meet. The nuns traditionally are elderly women, usually widows with a full set of children, grand children and great grand children back home. They spend their last years of earthly existence leading a monastic life. They live inside the temple grounds as well but in separate quarters, receive instruction about Buddha's teaching usually from an older monk and practice different kinds of meditation. Off we went in a colorful procession. Me in vibrant pink and the monks in various tones of flaming orange! The nuns, about 20 of them, were still inside, deep into their meditation. We waited outside. I would not say quietly... The novices were giggling like school girls and Chien was sharing a joke with one of his students quite noisily. But no matter, the nuns appeared, through the open door, totally oblivious of the outside world. Later, they all filed out one by one and seemed truly delighted to meet the "foreigner".

I bowed in front of each of them as low as I could in respect. They were so beautiful. Their little girl faces where a myriad of wrinkles and seemed to reflect a perpetual smile. Their shaved heads seemed to have the fragilty of a baby's skull. They were dressed entirely in white and had a toothless, vampire like grin acquired from chewing betel nut all day long.

They actually greeted me quite effusively... some hugged me, others pinched my cheeks or my arms and a couple even gave me a couple of affectionate slaps on the rump! We then proceeded to the nunnery. The head nun at the venerable age of 98 wanted absolutely to show me their quarters. A cluster of wooden houses around a shady and pleasant courtyard. I was introduced to everybody, other nuns and to some of the relatives who had come to visit. The head nun proudly lifted up her great- great- grand son! I was even introduced to the "Idiot of the Community" whom everybody seemed to treat with a great deal of kindness." Then a nun called me over and showed her treasure: a postcard of a cow! I looked at Chien inquiringly and he explained to me that it was a shot of the Mascot of Cambodia, called Preah Kou and proceeded to tell me her story.

Preah Kou is in fact a real cow, but a very special one. One day, as she had been taken to the slaughter house, she escaped and ran for her life. During her flee, she came across a monk who took pity on her and gave her sanctuary in his temple. Thus Preah Kou escaped the death usually reserved to her kind and became sort of holy. Cambodians bath in the water she has touched in the hope that some of her good fortune will rub on them! They also do not hesitate to collect her urine and excrements but I dread to think what they might do with them!! To conclude this memorable visit, a strange looking man all wiry and with a shaved head appeared on the scene. He was dressed in what would be the version of a Cambodian tramp. Baggy pants that had seen better days and a ridiculously long shirt with the tail sticking out. The man noiselessly grabbed my hand without ceremony, looked at my palm with a serious concentrated look and then engaged in the most expressing miming session I had ever seen. Thank God, Chien was there to translate. The man was in fact completely deaf and dumb and had apparently some power of clairvoyance. This is what he said about me: I had been married before but that now I was no longer with my spouse. That I was with someone else who was not my spouse (shocking!!! Imagine advertising this fact in front of a bunch of nuns and monks!!!) and he finished by saying that I had taken an airplane to many countries. Amazing no? Dusk was falling. It was time to leave. I did so promising everybody that I would come back to visit.

August 16, 2004: Fainting in the middle of a field

Still in Pursat! Today has been a day I will forever remember. Had I been in Mexico I would have said that I suffered from Montezuma's Revenge but being in Cambodia I think Pol Pot was the culprit. In the morning I woke up early as I had a full day ahead of me. First the visit to the floating town of Kampong Loung, about 40 kilometers away and then I had the intention of seeing my new friends at the temple. However, the day did not turn out the way I had planned... As soon as I got up, I knew something was wrong. I felt nauseous like a woman in the early stages of pregnancy, I had to run to the toilet twice (I will spare you the scatological details) and I had severe cramping in the abdomen area.

I was to meet my motorbike driver at 7 am sharp and for a short while I considered cancelling the outing. Then, I thought better of it; I "corked" myself with two tablets of lomotil (a gut paralyzing medicine which comes handy when you are about to travel) and decided to give it a try. I thought it prudent not to ingest anything and left on an empty stomach. My driver was ready for me downstairs. He was apparently 23 but did not look older than 18, with some knowledge of English, in telegraphic form! He looked quite elegantly fashionable in his oversized, low waisted pants, gelled jetblack hair which was carefully slicked back

and - in my honor? - a magnificent light blue shirt, freshly ironed, with the inevitable towel around his neck for protection from the dust. He put a brand new, very racy-looking helmet on. "And what about me?" I wondered...but not for long as it was clear there had been no planning for my protection! I pointed at my stomach, grimaced a mimick of pain and said: "Me sick, please drive slowly!" He understood me perfectly and repeated twice "Drive slowly, drive slowly." Reassured, I got on behind him and we took off.

Rith (that was his name) really made an effort not to fly over the potholes of the bumpy road. I was beginning to feel much better with the deliciously cool morning air blowing on my face. We left town and started traveling through very scenic countryside. An ambulance passed with the loudest siren I had ever heard in my life, scaring all living creatures in its wake: dogs, goats,hens, ducks and even the cattle usually so placid! And us as well of course! We drove for a few more kilometres after the passage of the ambulance. Then we saw in the distance a great gathering of people and the ambulance parked on the side. Rith slowed down and said as if it had escaped my notice, "Madam, accident, very bad!!"

He turned around again and asked: "Madam, we stop?"" There was a look of hope in his eyes. He was burning with curiosity. I had noticed before this morbid fascination that Cambodians have for any tragedies occuring on the road. I replied, "Okay, let's stop!" What we saw was not a pretty sight: it was rather frightening in fact. A pick-up like the one I had used to travel from Battambang to Pursat was lying in the ditch, on its roof, with its gross overload scattered around: boxes, sacks, bags and other bulky items. Mercifully, it had not been carrying any passengers. The driver was lying on the road, apparently unconscious, with blood all over him. The crowd from neighbouring farms was silent, taking it all in. The unfortunate driver was put on a rudimentary stretcher and put inside the ambulance that sped away emitting once again the same deafening siren sound that had frightened us out of our wits. My young companion looked a little paler than before and drove even more soberly for the rest of the way. Before he took off, he tried to explain to me what had happened, making graceful circular motions with his wrist similar to those of a Cabomdian classical ballet dancer to describe the many loops the vehicle had done before landing on its roof. In the town of Krabor, we swerved to the left to take a dirt road to the floating village. Depending on whether it is wet or dry season, Kampong Loung, entirely made of boats , is either two kilometeres away or seven kilometres away! We stopped right in front of the lake. There a market was in full swing on firm ground. I saw a group of men carrying on what looked like a moving cart an enormous house on stilts, yes a real life-size home! A young woman ran towards us as soon as we got off the bike to hand me a laminated piece of cardboard. On it were listed the rules and regulations for visiting Kampong Loung. The whole one hour tour was to cost me $5. I nodded in assent. She asked me to follow her and I did so with the faithful Rith in tow.

We boarded one of these narrow canoes with a small motor on the back. Rith sat at the bow: he would help the boatman in case of unforseen problems! He had now decided to wear his towel on his head (to protect his hair no doubt), which gave him a comical look. I was sitting in the middle; our captain was of course at the back. I suddenly remembered that the laminated cardboard had stipulated in red ink that all tourists MUST wear a lifejacket. I asked for mine. The captain who at first did not seem to have a clue of what I was referring to finally opened a wooden box and took out a superb brand new orange life jacket! Wow! I was impressed. Unfortunately, when I attempted to put it on, I realized that it must have been designed for a Lilliputian because, even I- by no means a bulky foreigner-. could not get it to zip up! But no matter!

We were off to a difficult start. It took us a good quarter of an hour to enter the floating town itself. We got caught in a amazing traffic jam (Rush hour I suppose. It was by then 8 am!).. An entanglement of dozens of small boats trying to go in the same direction and , in the middle of this chaos a huge one that was obstructing the passage. Finally we managed and started navigating through the "liquid" streets of this unusual city. I was amazed. This was no floating market, like those you see in Thailand. This was an authentic town on water; it had all the amenities of an urban center, but on floats!

I saw homes (you could call them houseboats I suppose) with the laundry drying outside, a little potted garden in the front, a dog or a cat sleeping lazily in the morning sun, bicycles hung on the outside walls and even pigs kept in a pen on floats, grunting contendly. I saw a school, a clinic, gas stations, drugstores, karaoke bars, shops and even a floating pagoda! The town folks, mostly Vietnamese with a handful of Cambodians and Muslims were quite friendly. I was snapping picture after picture...The children were shouting "hello" and everybody was smiling in a congenial fashion. Due to the early hour, I, the only tourist on the lake, was making the most of this special moment. Soon other travellers would arrive but for the time being the place was an oasis of tranquility; I had it all to myself. Several canoes came by, with Vietnamese ladies prettily coiffed in a cone -shaped straw hat. They were rowing at the stern. In front of them, inside the narrow boat all sorts of steaming pots with appetizing smells. I was not tempted though, my stomach still being queasy. The hour was coming to an end. I was ready to get back. The sewage stench coming form the waters were beginning to affect me adversely. So we disembarked and got back on the bike. I was beginning to feel sick again. The rough riding, even at reasonable speed was giving me nasty jolts in the stomach. The traffic was more dense by then. Everytime a big bus would be passing us, I had the horrible feeling that the gust of wind that it created would sweep us into the ditch, like small boats bobbing on the sea after the passage of a big steamer!. I started to sweat profusely and to burp in the most unladylike fashion. Rith oblivious of my torments continued to drive on.

Then, I could not stand it anymore! I was going to throw up all over Rith's freshly ironed shirt. Unthinkable! I frantically screamed "stop, stop!!"', startling the poor boy. He did. I jumped off and started running, past a little woodent hut, deep into a field. There in privacy, I vomitted to my heart's content, mostly bile! Sorry for being so graphic. I retched, and moan. It seemed to me that I was going to spill my guts, literally (but not literarily!) speaking right there on the grass. Rith a few meters away was watching me with deep concern. He came near me, put his hand gently on my shoulder and said, "Madam, come."

I turned around to follow him. All of a sudden, the world went all black through my sunglasses. I saw white dots dancing wildly and then nothingness engulfed me. I passed out... The next thing I remember is "waking up", surrounded by four pairs of black eyes. I was lying down on the floor of a wooden hut. A kind soul had put a cardboard box under my head as a pillow. The owner of the first pair of eyes was an attractive young woman who was slowly fanning me with some kind of newsprint. The second was a 7 or 8 year old girl with a mane of thick lustrous hair cascading upon her shoulders. She was staring as if I had recently landed from another planet! The third pair were kind and compassionate and housed in the face of an older woman. And the fourth was poor Rith. At this point he had the look of a man realizing that he had taken more than he could chew. I felt sorry for him.

The older woman took control of the situation. She grabbed my hand and put it on my pulsating stomach. Wow, it sounded like a factory working over capacity!!! Then, gently but firmly, she started massaging my bloated tummy while her younger assistant continued to fan me. She did that for a long time and even used a cream from a small jar that smelled like Tiger's balm for the particularly turbulent areas of my lower abdomen. I felt better already, strangely at peace. Time had stopped. Even though I was lying there in the middle of nowhere, sick as a dog and surrounded by perfect strangers, I felt happy, yes happy. I knew I could trust those people. I sensed that I was not alone in this predicament, that they would do anything in their power to help me. The little girl had now my hand in hers and was playing with my wedding ring. Everybody was smiling... The word must have spread like fire in this isolated area that there was a sick "barang" in the middle of the field. We had

a steady stream of visitors, some under the pretext of buying something! Three soldiers, an old man, a woman with her kids in tow, a dog, a younger man with a monkey, and two motorbike drivers passing by, all stopping to see what had drawn such a crowd... They all lingered, looking at me curiously and listening to the conversation that I was having with my private physician. Rith was acting as translator.. Finally, I got up. thanked my doctor, gave her money as token of gratitude, had Rith take a picture of her and me her patient and we left on our merry way once again. I felt much better but this feeling was to be short lived however. We had to stop twice more, in extremis, but I did not pass out. I thought at one point that I would never make it back on the bike...I was feeling truly terribly ill.

When alighting in front of the hotel, I went no further than the hall. There I collapsed on a very uncomfortable wooden couch. I fell asleep right away out of sheer exhaustion. None of the staff disturbed me. I suspect that Rith was hovering around like a vigilante while I was resting. I slept for two hours, then woke up ready to tackle the three flights of stairs to my room. Rith helped me carry my daypack. I ordered a pot of tea. It was time to take care of myself. I laced the tea with generous spoonfuls of sugar(to give me energy. I had not eaten since the night before) and with a sprinkle of salt to avoid dehydration. Once in my room, after drinking the tea, I slept around the clock until the next morning. I had set the alarm for late afternoon in the hope that I would feel well enough to visit my friends from the temple but I did not even hear the alarm, indulging in the deepest of slumbers.

August 17/04:

Teaching an "impromptu" English lesson to a classroom of monks

The next day after my being terribly ill, I got up somewhat refreshed from my long sleep but still shaky. According to all the symptoms I had lately displayed, I had self diagnosed myself as having gardiasis, which is I believe an amoebic infection. Not really wanting to consult a doctor or do a stool test in this country where the nivel of health care is apparently appalling, I decided to wait until I would be back home to seek medical advice. Despite the fact that the small town of Pursat prided itself in an amazing number of pharmacies, they were useless to me as nobody spoke English and I would have to wait until reaching the capital to buy the proper medicine.

So I just took it easy until the middle of the afternoon when the sun is no longer so fierce and went for a stroll. I walked past the market as lively as ever, then by a row of shops labelled with simplistically worded signs both in Khmer and English. There were the Cake Shop, the Drink Shop, the Jewel Shop, the Hand phone (cell!) Shop...just in case you had any doubts about the kind of goods they were offering! I crossed the river to make my way toward the temple. My friends, Chien, the novices and the nuns must have thought that I had changed my mind about visiting them again when I did not show up. It was time to set things right.

However, upon arrival at the temple I found that the grounds were deserted. As I stood scratching my head wondering what had become of my friends, I noticed a chubby monk at a distance coming out of the monastery and waving at me. It was not Chien who is tall, lean and muscular. The chubby monk explained to me that Chien was currently teaching. I replied that I did not want to intrude and that I would come back later. He would not hear of it and invited me to follow him.

We walked to a kind of hall, which, I surmised, was Chien's classroom. There was a real commotion when I entered. Chien ran to me with a radiant smile on his face, took me up to a kind of stage and introduced me as "Mamee", his good friend from Canada! I quickly explained to him what had happened the day before and then turned around to face the class. Two thirds of Chien's pupils were novices. I recognized some from my previous visit; the others were ordinary teenagers, all boys. The hall was vast with old fashioned wooden desks and even a couple of large beds at the back...(In case the class would become too boring?) There were a blackboard, a desk and a chair for Chien. I was pressed to sit down close to a window. The air was very still, hot and muggy.

Chien proceeded to address his class, saying how happy he was to see "Mamee" and how lucky his students were to have the opportunity to practice their English with "Mamee". I was beginning to feel exhilarated by such a warm welcome. "Mamee" was obviously a name that denoted at the same time respect(for my great age!) and affection. Incidentally, it is also a term of endearment that Cuban husbands use with their wives and girlfriends! The students were at first tongue-tied. I told them briefly about myself, about my travels all around the world. They were hanging on my every word. Never had I had such an attentive class! They showed me the English book they were using, reminiscent of the ones from the 60ies that I had in High School. I asked them simple questions. Everybody was delighted, included Chien who kept grinning happily. One of the young monks timidly said, "Mamee has pretty voice, soft like music". Another, bolder, added, "Mamee, pretty...like young girl." Chien frowned at what he considered an irreverence perhaps. I smiled and thanked both flatterers. It may have been an exaggeration but it certainly was nice to hear! Then, Chien asked me if I could teach his students something. "Of course, I said, what about a song?" The whole room went silent suddenly. Everybody gave me a consternated look. Had I put my foot in my mouth? I thought. Yes, I had. Chien said gently. "Mamee, the monks cannot sing. It is against the teachings of the Buddha!" Oops! I apologised and asked, "What would you like me to teach, some grammar maybe?" Chien and his students looked radiant. Grammar would certainly do. The pupils had had difficulties understanding the difference between adjectives with the suffixes ING and ED, like in "frightened" and "frightening". So I put on my glasses and my best teacher's air and thought quickly about how I could make them grasp the concept. Using grammar terminology was no use. Drawing on the board even worse, considering my artistic ability.

Then I thought of mime or role playing. A ghost, perhaps? Better not, they may not know what it is in their culture. They all were looking at me expectantly. Suddenly, it came to me. The tiger and the cat!!! I started prancing around and roaring like a ferocious tiger. My arms were raised. My claws all out and my teeth were showing. I growled in a carnivorous voice, "I am a FRIGHTENING tigeeeer! I am a frightening tigeeer!" The pupils looked at me, taken back at first then they burst out laughing. "Mamee, frightening tiger! ...Mamee, frightening tiger!".

Then, I was the poor little cat meowing in awe of the great big tiger. I shivered cowardly, bringing my tiny paws up to my chin. Speaking in a high pitched voice, I said, "I am the frightened cat." By that time I had my audience in hysterics, peeling with laughter and practically slapping their thighs. The lesson ended on this merry note. All students came to say goodbye. "Goodbye, Mamee, good luck to you. Thank you, Mamee," in this inimitable sing-song tone. Chien and I walked out together. It was the best hour of the day, when the sun begins to set and everything has this soft glowing quality. Chien, showed me his quarters, very spartian indeed.

He said, "Mamee, I want to be a monk for another 10 years. I want to continue learning." "And then?" I asked. "Then I want to have family, but it is very expansive." "Expansive?" I repeated surprised. "Yes to marry beautiful girl from rich family costs $8000." "$8000! I exclaimed, staggered by the amount. "Ït is cheaper if you marry pretty girl from pretty family... between $1000 and $2000," he conceded. It certainly paid to have daughters in this country! I thought. "I think I want to marry foreign girl," Chien added as an afterthought. It certainly would be cheaper, I thought, but would bring other kinds of complications!!! We bowed good bye to each other, promised to write and I departed.

More to follow... Construction continues...

August 23/04: Thank you all for sharing my trip with me My trip is coming to an end...unfortunately. Tomorrow, I am going to Bangkok and then home! Time has flown by and in a way, I am sad to leave. I learned to love Cambodia as much as Laos and the last five days in Phnom Penh have been very pleasant indeed.

I just finished sending you my last entry entitled "Teaching an impromptu English lesson to a classroom of monks". I want to thank each and everyone of you to have taken the time to read me. It certainly made a difference to have an audience! I also want to thank you for sending me feed back. It was much appreciated especially when I started traveling alone! I look forward to seeing you soon... the ones among you who live in B.C. that is! For the ones who live under other skies, I hope to see you all in the near future. Take care... Much love Daphne

PS: My next trip is already planned: the Spanish Santiago Camino and Iran!!!