"Yes, as through this world I've wandered I've seen lots of funny men Some will rob you with a six-gun And some with a fountain pen."
"Pretty Boy Floyd"-Woodie Guthrie, 1940
Seems like the current economic meltdown is an echo of this song. And it's reminds me of another.
"The bridge at midnight trembles, The country doctor rambles, Bankers' nieces seek perfection, Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring. The wind howls like a hammer, The night blows cold and rainy, My love she's like some raven At my window with a broken wing."
" Love Minus Zero/No Limit" -Bob Dylan
Does it seem that the American Dream of home ownership has been stolen for too many? The method was an old one -- old as the ancient English Laws of Enclosure. Back then the villagers were denied access to the Commons. That's where they had for generations grazed their livestock. And so, without a way to feed their families, they were forced to borrow from the lands "new owners". And when they couldn't pay it back, their homes were seized: Tricked out of ownership to the homes their fore bearers had built.
And isn't this what we're seeing now? Home owners tricked into an inflated, artificial real estate market so they would borrow against the equity they had obtained in their homes. The Commons of our nation destroyed or privatized. And now, as the economy trembles, and families lose their livelihoods, these home owners find that what they've borrowed is more than the deflated value of the homes they promised as equity. So those loans are being called in by the banks. Nothing really changed, except the color of the ink on a ledger. Robbed by a fountain pen!
But this is America, and it can't happen here. Right? So what are we doing about it?
The Congress passes legislation to save the system that created the fraud! 700 billion strong! And more and more and more. And who is getting the money? The bankers' nieces, seeking perfection no doubt, on their balance sheets.
The wind will definitely howl like a hammer this Thanksgiving for too many. And I expect these poor folk have about given up expecting "all the gifts" that those wise men in Washington will bring. And now America is like some raven, At my window with a broken wing.
Judith and I have been friends since we were 14. Our marriage, at the age of 21 in 1969, has been the longest relationship of our lives. Through the trials of raising three children, 8 years of partial separation, lots of growth challenges and changes, it is still the prism through which we view our daily existence. But this post is not about our marriage, or our relationship. It's about what that long struggle has meant to us in the context of civil rights.
Despite my excitement about the Democrat's win during the last election, I was extremely disappointed in the outcome of the California ballot initiative called Proposition 8. Voting Yes for Prop 8 added the definition to the state's constitution that "marriage" will be restricted to one man and one woman. I was disappointed because I support marriage, and I believe the benefits of same-sex marriage far outweigh the detriments, and that Prop 8 will destroy the fabric of true, consensual marriage.
My context is a combination of morality, practicality, and realism, and while I sympathize with the feeling of voters who voted for Prop 8, it's important in my mind to put things into perspective.
For the great majority of couples in the world, marriage is still a form of bondage for the women. For a large segment of world society, the wife is still legal chattel - an object of slavery - with the owner of the chattel always defined as the male member.
Polygamy is another standard accepted form of marriage in many countries. It almost always defines marriage as a relationship between one man and multiple women.
Arranged marriages, from birth is yet another.
During the days of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia, marriages were arranged and conducted at the behest of the government for the sole purpose of increasing the workforce, and the children of those marriages were removed from the couple (who seldom were permitted to co-habitate) as quickly as feasible.
The fact that the Western countries have -- over time -- successfully re-defined a concept of marriage to include equal rights between members of the marriage is an anomaly when compared to the state of marriage in most of the world's nations.
The U.S. and other Western countries -- by moving the legal path of marriage towards equality -- has strengthened individual freedoms, so that people now have a choice to take on their roles. These countries have strengthened the fabric of society by building a more just framework for raising children, for recognizing individual and family contributions, and for rewarding functioning family structures.
But traditional marriage, as found in too many other countries, is a means of restricting the rights of a particular underclass of citizens who happen to be women.
Proposition 8 -- the constitutional amendment that has been approved by the voters of California -- runs counter to the trajectory of civil rights. By defining marriage as an exclusive state -- solely recognized as a relationship between members of the opposite sex -- Prop 8 reinforces a status quo in which social mores' are more important than human rights.
It removes individual choice and it separates and castigates individuals who have freely choosen to enter into binding marital relationships. These kinds of relationships have been a constructive part of our society for millenniums, and interjecting a state-sanctioned formulation that excludes certain individuals is detrimental to the very family values these proponents profess to support.
Marriage is not simply a relationship between man and woman, and it should not be defined as such: It is a relationship between the society and individuals, shielding the relationship from state intervention and providing it with a legal framework for protecting its members for the benefit of the society.
Proponents of Prop 8 contend that legal domestic partnership is the equivalent to a socially sanctioned and legitimized marriage. But they might also look at the historic results of similar laws that once defined separate-but-equal states in this country, and the laws of apartheid in other nations. Those histories demonstrate that when two classes of citizens are defined by the state, they result in unequal treatment and the destruction of the very institutions that the laws were purporting to protect.
Individuals of age who freely join together in a relationship to build upon family values should not be struggling with the extra weight of this civil rights fight. Our families, who are already facing so many obstacles in holding together their relationships, should not be pitted one against the other over the sexual orientation of their neighbors -- gay, straight, or otherwise. There is too much that needs to be done to improve our society for the benefit of our children.
Proposition 8 was clearly an anti-civil rights proposition. The California state constitutional amendment that it promoted now needs to be repealed -- for the benefit of all of our families.
This morning Judith woke up and began singing this old Bob Dylan song. I imagine her standing in line to vote, and starting to hum this little ditty. And then, slowly, voices begin to join in with her. And eventually, we get it done.
Thanks Bob Dylan! If you want to sing this hymn, the words go like this:
When The Ship Comes In
Oh the time will come up When the winds will stop And the breeze will cease to be breathin'. Like the stillness in the wind 'Fore the hurricane begins, The hour when the ship comes in.
Oh the seas will split And the ship will hit And the sands on the shoreline will be shaking. Then the tide will sound And the wind will pound And the morning will be breaking.
Oh the fishes will laugh As they swim out of the path And the seagulls they'll be smiling. And the rocks on the sand Will proudly stand, The hour that the ship comes in.
And the words that are used For to get the ship confused Will not be understood as they're spoken. For the chains of the sea Will have busted in the night And will be buried at the bottom of the ocean.
A song will lift As the mainsail shifts And the boat drifts on to the shoreline. And the sun will respect Every face on the deck, The hour that the ship comes in.
Then the sands will roll Out a carpet of gold For your weary toes to be a-touchin'. And the ship's wise men Will remind you once again That the whole wide world is watchin'.
Oh the foes will rise With the sleep still in their eyes And they'll jerk from their beds and think they're dreamin'. But they'll pinch themselves and squeal And know that it's for real, The hour when the ship comes in.
Then they'll raise their hands, Sayin' we'll meet all your demands, But we'll shout from the bow your days are numbered. And like Pharaoh's tribe, They'll be drownded in the tide, And like Goliath, they'll be conquered.
On Friday we were evacuated from our house because a fire was running along the ridge behind us.
About ten minutes after the fire started, I shot this photo from the Foothills School.
Helicopters and airplanes were dumping lots of water onto the flames.
Firetrucks and bulldozers were at our corner, and they cut a fire-break through the vineyard at the end of our road. We were evacuated when it was clear that the flames were only a few blocks from the houses.
The flames were forty feet or more and one family's house was lost. The fire had been started by a car that hit a rock and sparked a flame. In less than five minutes it was out of control, fanned by Santa Ana winds.
I had gone down town for just a quick errand and everything seemed fine. But 20 minutes later, coming back up the hill the plume of smoke was enormous.
We were really lucky, and we really appreciate all the fire professionals and the Sheriff's Department for working so hard to keep us safe. Thanks to Yoda - who fought the fire. Free beer for him when he comes by!
And many thanks to Linda and Tom Shiebal for putting us up, and to Susan Shay for reading us Dylan Thomas during the conflagration. (I think there's a poem in here somewhere).
It's good to be back home tonight. The fire is now contained and even the smoke is down. We have another fire going on here tonight, but fortunately for us, it's in our fireplace.
This is my report on the 2008 Fund Raiser for Human Translation. It was a great event, but not without its own little drama.
We got there about 4:30, and the event was supposed to begin at 5. The day was beautiful, clear sky, not too hot. We were still some of the first people to get there. It was at Clos Pegase Winery, and I'm including some pictures here so that you’ll see what it looked like.
The vineyards at the winery.
They had set up the tables, and the event was to be sold out. It’s a beautiful setting with wine caves dug into the hill behind the winery.
Tables set for supporters.
Judith and I scouted out the caves, and found Megan (Blaire’s sister) getting ready for the opera concert, along with the three other singers. The caves are not what one might normally picture in one’s mind: They are like Hobbit Holes built into the hills, plastered in stucco and painted, with little alcoves containing Grecco-Roman sculptures, and then barrels mounted on skids that can be moved about with forklift trucks. They’re about 20 feet wide and 20 feet tall, and they have a wonderful echo effect.
The wine caves.
Megan and her friends were dressed in formal attire and they all looked beautiful. The stage was at one end of one of the farthest caves with a grand piano, and was jammed with folding chairs. I wished the singers good luck, and thanked them for their support. I told them about the staff back in Cambodia, and how I wished you could attend to see their performances. They said they were proud to be a part of the fund raiser for Human Translation because they knew that what HT was doing was making a real importance to the families and artists and children of Cambodia.
The performers.
As people started to come into the caves, there was a mounting sense of excitement. Such a magical place to hold a concert! People had dressed up for the occasion, and came in holding glasses of champaign – also donated to HT’s fund raiser. It’s hard to imagine how many people have contributed to this event. Volunteers, donors, and just old valley friends – many of whom I had not seen in years, and some who – though I knew them by sight – I had never met. As Judith and I were separately introduced, we individually thanked as many as we could. But there were so many. Some asked if we were proud of Tobias, and I said “Of course!” But I also said that HT team was what was really important, back in Cambodia and here in St. Helena.
Megan and supporter of HT.
And then I told them a little about what I had seen in our recent trip. It’s hard for them to imagine Siem Reap and Balangk – especially in the opulent setting of the winery.
A child back in Balangk, Cambodia
But they listened, intent, and some said they’d been attracted to the event by the newspaper articles that had recently appeared, and some said they had heard of the event through word of mouth.
The concert was packed.
The concert cave was soon crammed with the audience, and each concert piece was introduced by Robin Shay – the son of Susan Shay who is a key board member, and Megan Scheibal’s boyfriend. The four singers each had a couple of solos and then a couple of duets and then a couple of foursome pieces. One performer, Justin, sang “Old Man River” with such beauty that we were all transfixed. (And this comes from a non-opera buff!) The concert ran for about an hour, with one brief intermission. The volunteers literally came out of the woodwork, as they leaned forward between the barrel racks to listen from the wings. It was a wonderful concert, too wonderful to really describe. The group received standing ovations, and were called back for encores. Wow! You have no idea how impressive these HT supporters were by donating their talents with this concert. They had flown in from New York City, 3000 miles, just to perform at this concert, for free.
The encore.
After the concert the audience made its way back out through the caves to the courtyard where each person was pre-assigned a seat. The tables were laid out beautifully with sparkling wine glasses and red tablecloths and lots of bottles of wine. The sun was just starting to set, and the air was starting to cool down. Everyone seemed ecstatic about the concert, and then the food was served.
The dinner.
The food had been donated and prepared by the master chef, Ron Golden. It was lovely, came in multiple courses, and was served family style. As I was sitting there watching the food being served, I was reminded of Metsin (or was it Mitsen) and the little lunch we had under the tree on the mats with Somet and Tobias and Chai.
Lunch beside the water gate with Somet and Met Sin and grandchildren.
The contrast was right up front for me, and I told some of the people at the table about that experience
After people had gotten through most of their meal, Phil (another HT board member) stepped up to the lectern with a mic and introduced Dick Grace. Dick is a local philanthropist who has been instrumental mentoring Tobias in the development of HT over the last four years. He had never given any money to HT in the first years, waiting to see if Tobias was serious, but last year he donated generously, leading the rest of the auction in that successful event. So having Dick talk about HT was important to this group because it showed them that he was still very much a supporter.
Dick Grace
Dick then introduced Tobias, who was dressed in slacks (thank god he wasn’t wearing those jeans) and a simple blue shirt. Tobias thanked everyone for coming, and thanked them for last year’s contribution, and congratulated them on supporting the successful building of the reservoir.
The water gate and the reservoir construction, thanks to HT supporters.
He told them that without their support none of what had been accomplished would have been possible. Then he talked about what needed to be done now: The installation of water filters, and the development of the educational program. It was a short talk, and he said that he had prepared a film to give them an idea of what the projects had been about and what was needed still. So the lights were dimmed as the night grew dark, and the wide screen TVs lit up.
Tobias introduces the video.
And then the technical glitches started. Oh my gawd! How to describe them!
Technology run amok.
As a background, Tobias later told me that they had spent lots of money to hire a professional company to bring in the audio-video equipment. But the crew had messed up, bringing the wrong equipment and not enough wide screen tvs. As the concert was going on, they were still trying to get things to work, and had been forced to go from Plan A, to Plan B, and finally to Plan C before they had things working. Now they were on Plan C, which was a back-up DVD that Tobias had burned the same morning with the final revisions. But then the AV crew had left! They had gone off without doing a complete run-through. And now Tobias and his volunteers were forced to do it by themselves.
The video started out just fine, and then it started to skip, echoing out a terrible screech as the feedback kicked in. They halted the video, and started it again, and once again the system crashed. Poor Tobias. He’d been working daily on this video for the entire two or three weeks since he’d been home, working as long as 10 hours a day uploading, and cataloging, and editing the hundreds of hours of video he’d taken back at the project. He finally halted the video and tried to speak to the audience, to recover the moment. But then the microphone didn’t work either, so his voice was drowned out by the commotion within the audience. What a catastrophe. What a mess. He stumbled and fumbled and finally – as the microphone finally came back on line – turned the proceedings over to the auctioneer.
The people at the table where we sat were very understanding. They were sympathetic to Tobias’ plight. One said to tell him that the message had been received, even if the video hadn’t been seen. Judith was obviously sad as well.
I got up and found Tobias in the shadows, being hugged by Blaire. I gave him a big hug, and told him what others had said. “The message had been received. Everyone understood.”
But he was devastated, I could tell. He was looking back at the courtyard, where all those people had been assembled, where they had been waiting to understand a little more of the tremendous success that HT had accomplished …. People had flown in from all over the world to support Human Translation at this fund raiser, and here – after weeks of preparation – Tobias' set-piece film had failed.
But he swallowed his pride and said “I think we’re gonna be okay.” The auction had started, but the audience was a bit distracted. The first auction items had started to be bid, but there wasn’t much activity from the guests.
Then Dick Grace got up and spoke again. He reminded people briefly about why this event had been mounted. And he said that Tobias should try to show the video one more time.
There are times when one wonders how the universe is constructed, how its gears and cogs can sometimes slip and scrape and bring things to a halt. Or how a stray electron can short out a circuit board one moment and bring things to a raucous end. Sometimes I think that what happened to Cambodia in the 1970s was an incident like that: Things collapsing, and the wrong people taking over, and then terrible, chaotic things happening that spun out of control. People forced to escape carrying their kids, crossing rivers and mountains and suffering terrible losses to get somewhere safe.
And then there are times when somebody says, “Remember why we are here. Let’s try it again.” And I don’t understand why, in the midst of all that, suddenly the gears mesh or the electrons suddenly pop and behave themselves, and the wondrous universe starts to make sense again. For some reason, the thing that failed once, or twice, or three times adjusts itself, and begins to work properly, as if nothing had ever happened.
And that was what happened that night.
The video ran the third time without a hitch. People saw a bit of what I had seen: What HT was doing on the ground, tens of thousands of miles away, in a place not much different than where we were sitting now – in a rural place, surrounded by lush countryside, in small communities, peopled by individuals of good will. The construction of the water gate, the clearing of mines, the grassing of the embankment, the faces of the hundreds of people there, in Balangk, who were changing their lives with a little help from Human Translation. The video talked about why Tobias had come to Cambodia, and how he had become involved, and what the steps were that HT was taking to help. It was a good video. It was personal, and honest, and it was asking for more help from these people in this valley. And as it ended, everyone applauded – and I hope you heard that applause, even though you’re so far away.
This is the video that everyone finally saw:
The auction begins.
And so the auction began in earnest. There were quite a few items – trips to Paris or Maine, wine, lots of stuff. There’s something about a charity auction that is unique, in that people will bid well above the value of an item because they want to really support an organization. At the same time, they’ll bid more than they normally would give outright because they feel they want to get some value for their money. I don’t pretend to understand it, but that’s human psychology I guess.
But the real trick at a charity auction is to leverage that basic human dynamic to get more out of the audience. And the auctioneer HT had at this event was an expert. About half-way through the auction he stopped it and said “And now, ladies and gentleman, we come to the part that we’ve all been waiting for: A time to pledge support for Tobias and Human Translation’s project. We’ll start the pledges at 10 thousand dollars, and then lower them step by step until everyone has had a opportunity to pledge. So now, who will pledge 10 thousand dollars for Human Translation?” And Dick Grace raised his paddle.
The pledging of support for HT begins.
“And who will pledge nine thousand dollars” and two more people raised their paddles. “And five thousand dollars” and four or five more people raised their paddles. And so it went, four, then three, then two, then one, then five hundred, then three hundred, then two, then one. And when the pledging was over, in ten minutes, the auctioneer said “Give yourselves a hand. You’ve just pledged nearly 85 thousand dollars for Human Translation.”
And the people did applaud, and they applauded very loudly, and if they couldn’t hear them back in Siem Reap, I swear they must be deaf!
Tobias after the pledge drive.
The auction then continued for more than an hour, with things like a pasta making machine going for several thousand dollars, and on and on. You have no idea of the pandemonium that was taking place.
Happy supporter of HT.
It was crazy. Absolutely crazy. People were pouring wine and in tears. And when it was over, Tobias thanked everyone, and people left happy, if somewhat lighter in their wallets, and it was about ten o’clock at night, cold and clear, with stars shining down on this strange little valley where people seemed to have more money than common sense. Everyone was in good spirits, even Tobias, at how well HT had done.
Tom and Judith
Special thanks go to all the loyal board members of Human Translation, who brought this wonderful event to fruition. And to the hundreds of community members who donated time and resources and so much more. There are too many to mention. And to the Engineers Without Borders, who devoted so much time and energy in the design and the construction of the water gate. And of course to performers who donated their special talents for this occassion, for the benefit of the people of Cambodia.
If you want to learn more about Human Translation - and maybe even make a small donation - go the http://www.humantranslation.org .
Vishika (whose name I'm sure I've mis-spelled) is one of the most vocal supporters of HT and has a story to explain it. Her parents carried her out of the killing fields of Cambodia after the Pol Pot regime of the Khmer Rouge took over the country. Her mother was also at the fund raiser, and made the satay and pot stickers. Tobias met Vishika after his first trip to Cambodia back in the states. Her cousin Ceda now works for HT back in Siem Reap. Vishika and her brother Thai - who was born in Thailand after the family's escape - went back to visit relatives about a year ago for the first time. I had a chance to meet him at the fund raiser too.
While Tobias was working on the video, down at the Methodist Church in St. Helena ten volunteers showed up to stuff programs, catalogs, and bidding placards into neat packages for the event. What a production line!
In little over an hour, nearly 300 packets were assembled, checked, listed, and checked off.
Human Translation has sold out the event.
Stay tuned for more, tomorrow, when the event takes off, with opera in the caves, a vineyard picnic, and the auction itself.
One of the temple sites that I was particularly interested in visiting was Bantay Srei, which is located about an hour outside of Siem Reap.
Bantay Srei holds a particular fascination for me because of the influence this temple had on the life of Andre' Malraux -- the adventurer, author, and one-time Minister of Cultural Affairs in France during the administration of Charles de Gaulle. As a student during the Viet Nam War, I became interested in Malraux as an example of someone who turned art into action. He not only wrote one of the most influential books of his time Man's Fate (La Condition Humaine). He was an acknowledged mytho-maniac, but he was also instrumental in re-forming the French perspective on Colonialism.
Malraux experiences in what was then called Indochina started when -- as a young man -- he came to Cambodia with the expressed purpose of finding Bantay Srei -- which previous French explorers had misplaced and confused with another site back in the 1920s. According to some historians, Malraux was a self-taught fanatic about art and culture, and he was intrigued with the legends of Bantay Srei's beautiful bas relief carvings. When the stock market crashed in 1922, leaving he and his new bride penniless, he determined to regain their economic stability by bringing examples of those temple carvings to France and selling them to museums (a form of commerce that was already well-established.) He deeply researched the known literature, pouring over the maps and recorded legends and stories of the Angkor area. Then he borrowed money to mount an exploration.
Unfortunately, so the story goes, while he was traveling to Cambodia on a trunk steamer, the colonial powers in Indochina passed a law prohibiting this kind of activity -- the first effort to preserve the temples in Cambodia from opportunists like Malraux. When Malraux arrived, he ignored this law and proceeded to mount his expedition. After several days of moving through the jungle, they found the temple, and his crew cut into the sandstone and removed several of the bas reliefs --cutting into the temple with hand saws. Fortunately, he was turned in to authorities and jailed -- sentenced to death.
When the French intelligentsia learned of his fate, a movement was started to get Malraux pardoned, and after many months in jail, he was released. The experience, however, radicalized him, and he went on to form an anti-colonial newspaper in Vietnam called "Indochina in Chains" -- one that the government attempted to shut down on several occasions and co-founded the Young Annam League -- a proto-Communist organization. His experiences in seeking Bantay Srei were fictionalized in what Malraux called an "anti-memoir" entitled "The Royal Way." While working in Vietnam, he wrote his second novel called "Man's Fate" -- a novel that predicted the Chinese Revolution and idealized the political struggles of the disenfranchised peasants in China. He wrote this novel without ever having visited China, yet its influence on the French intellectual community was profound.
Malraux went on to fight in the Spanish Civil War and in the French Resistance during WWII. He was captured twice, and sentenced to death on one occassion. He became such a towering "heroic" intellectual figure in France that his influence deeply impacted how the French Governments began to deal with its former colonial holdings. Like many, I admired Malraux's intelligence, his activist sentiments, and his deep concern with art and the rights of disenfranchised. (He wrote many books on art and culture that, in some people's mind, were the first look at global artistic cultural movements.)
That being said, in Cambodia Malraux is understandably portrayed as a villain for his desecration of Bantay Srei -- an example of the thieving nature of European opportunists who care nothing for the heritage of the Cambodian people. Even at the Cambodian Royal Palace they have a video display where they comment on Malraux's exploits, characterizing him as a simple theif.
This got me thinking about Malraux's influence again, and how that played out during the Khmer Rouge' days, when France embraced the regime and ignored -- as many western countries ignored -- the evidence of the auto-genocide. Did Malraux's preoccupation with populist peasant revolutions damper an awareness of the dangers of the Khmer Rouge'?
In Francois Bizot's excellent memoir of the fall of Phenom Penh "The Gate", he relates how he had tried to inform a well-known French journalist of what was going on -- based upon his own personal experience as a captive of the Khmer Rouge'. Bizot, in 1975, had first-hand knowledge of the tortures and executions of innocent people by the Khmer Rouge', and he later ended up being the only Western captive that was ever released by them. The French journalist who Bizot was trying to inform would have none of it. It was as though a veil of a "politically correct sentiment" had been dropped over the workings of the Khmer Rouge' regime, and the French intelligentsia could not or would not pass judgment on a populist Communist peasant revolt.
This reference in "The Gate" caused me to wonder if the influence of Malraux's radicalization fifty years before was still being reflected in the minds of people who should have known better. At that time -- in 1975 (Malraux died in 1976) -- Malraux's influence was still being felt, along with a lot of naive sentiments about Indochina.
In any event, Bantay Srei had proven to be a subtle and immutable influence in my own thinking, emanating out of my readings of Malraux, long before this trip. So actually seeing the temple was -- for me -- a really important event. The actual visit was not a disappointment at all.
The temple, in size, is extremely small when compared to Angkor Wat. Yet the carvings and decorations are so exquisite that they dwarf the artistic workmanship of any of the other temples we visited. We found ourselves walking around in awe of its beauty. So unique are the qualities of these bas reliefs that, when one sees them out of context -- such as in the museum at Siem Reap -- they are immediately recognizable.
I remember saying to Judith that -- if Malraux was destined to steal from a temple -- at the very least he knew he should steal from only the most exquisite. But for an intellectual, his lack of a moral compass may have idealized the human struggle for peace and justice, and the resulting silence may have ultimately had a significant effect on the lives and deaths of many people in the era of the Khmer Rouge'.
This is a slide show documentary of our recent excursion to Balangk Commune near Siem Reap, Cambodia following Tobias Rose-Stockwell, Director of the Human Translation Organization. It documents a single day as he and his engineer, Chai -- along with Venerable Mean Somet, a Buddhist monk -- show us the progress of their water irrigation project.
The project was a collaboration with the New York chapter of Engineers Without Borders, HT's supporters in the Napa Valley, countless contributors to the HT Website, and the community of Balangk Commune.
Most of these photos were taken with my Blackberry Curve cell phone. The resolution isn't great, but it was a handy way to quickly document an amazing day.
In the West we are taught that the Angkor temples were lost for centuries only to be "discovered" by a Frenchman at the beginning of the last century.
But the people who lived here knew that the hundreds and hundreds of temples were in the jungle and still visited most of them, though they were no longer maintained by the generations of kings.
When we really lost Cambodia was when the US started dropping millions of bombs on the villagers - first during the Johnson administration, and finally in the secret bombings of the Nixon administration. These bombing raids - dropping more bombs on this gentle nation than all that were dropped in WWII- became the primary propaganda events used by the Khmer Rouge to attract farmers into their ranks, ultimately causing the auto genocide of over a million people and the destruction of many of the ancient sculptures within the temples.
It's sobering thought that this is the same technique that the terrorists in Afghanistan and Iraq are using today.
Last night we witnessed Kymer orphans at a local NGO re enact the beautiful traditional dances of their ancestors. These kids spend two hours every day before school to practice. They were extraordinary.
This morning, before we left for the airport, we stopped for a tour of the Angkor Hospital for Children, another NGO where I interviewed for a job. Families come from all over Cambodia to bring their children for treatment - and they handle over 300 kids a day for stuff like malnutrition, water borne illnesses, and - increasingly - burn victims. It's a 50 bed hospital that is a model of care, though lacking itself in basic infrastructure things like consolidated IT services. It's a project I know I can help them build, though I haven't figured out yet how to bring them what they need.
Cambodia is rebuilding quickly, trying to meet its own destiny. This is not a nation like Thailand and not like Viet Nam and not like Malaysia not a bit like China. Its people have been the most gracious and kind and gentle and humble hosts that I have ever had a chance to meet. There seems to be no hostility towards Americans. We have always felt welcomed. As a nation of individuals, they seem to have large and open hearts. We hope we can find a way to help.
We are now back in Bangkok. But this trip now just seems to be starting. Judith and I are already thinking about the next steps. If Cambodia had been lost before, perhaps it was only lost to our imaginations in the West.
We managed to help throw a surprise birthday party for Arwen. The party started Friday night at Karen and Howie's house who opened their beautiful place at around 9PM. Pizza and lots of ex pat friends from the NGO community. People started trickling out at around 11:30 and Bryan whispered to us that a second party was to begin at another place at midnight. So Judith and I slipped out and found two friends on motos who whisked us away across the moon-lit river to where decorations awaited proclaiming "Arwen's Birthday Bonanza". When Arwen showed up with Bryan she was judiciously surprised, and the celebration lasted until 3. Lots of drinking and music and people just kept coming. Judith and Karen and Howie and I decided about 1:30 that we were too old to keep up, so we headed out. But they only had their single moto, and all the tuk tuk drivers had gone to bed. So Karen offered to walk us part way to help us find our directions back to the hotel. Along the river we walked through sleepy Siem Reap where the only people awake were a small flock of hookers clustered on the bridge. No problem for us.
The next day we found Howie and Karen at pool side of our hotel. They say our hotel is like their living room. Arwen and Bryan and many others ended up joining us.
Arwen decided that she wanted to see the sunset on her birthday at Angkor Wat. So we piled into a tuk tuk and headed out to the temples. We arrived just as the guards were chasing the tourists off the massive complex. So we played hide and seek in the temples and every time one would find us and demand that we leave, we said, "OK, but can we take your picture?" Which would delay the inevitable a bit longer. Then off we'd go again to hide. The place is enormous, so we took lots of pictures of guards, and managed to be the last ones out.
Here is a picture of Arwen and Judith just before sunset: after which we had a wonderful dinner. The end of a beautiful birthday for a 25 year old beauty.
Bryan put us up one night at Hôtel de la Paix - the five star hotel where he works as Executive Chef. It was great, and the swimming pool looked like a scene from a mafia movie. He also treated us to dinner, which is certainly his professional focus. It was delicious. But it's a far cry from what's going on in most of the town.
The old market is where you can find almost everything in the world. From new shoes to fresh snails to bananas to raw silk to kitchen ware to pigs knuckles. Want a carving of a buddha for your meditation room? Heck, you could furnish a million temples, complete with straw mats, incense, buddha and an oil painting of your favorite karaoke star.
The old market is one of three in Siem Reap, that also includes the New Market and the Night Market. Got a silk bathrobe for 18 dollars - negotiated down from 28. The trick is, evidently, to ask what the price is and then immediately say "Are you CRAZY!?!". It works.
We've been in Siem Reap for more than a week, with lots of side trips to various spots, all by motor bike or tuk tuks - which are little carriages pulled by a moto. The cost of renting a tuk tuk is between 10 and 15 dollars a day - depending on how far you want to go. You can't rent a moto, but moto drivers will let you hop on for about 50 cents. But you have to remember to mount and dismount on the left, or you end up with a "moto tattoo" on your leg: a nasty burn from the tail pipe.
The moto serves as every form of transportation in Siem Reap- including the family car, personal truck, portable snack stand, and delivery vehicle. We've seen as many as five people on a single moto: two adults and three children cradled between arms of parents or hanging off the back. Of course helmets are unusual. Sometimes you'll see three or more scooting along on a single bike, frantically texting on their cell phones. Last week we say a man bringing ten pigs - belly up in the sun - tied to a platform on the back seat. Tobias said they were drugged, which kept them quiet. Another time we witnessed a boy carrying a full length mirror, four feet by four feet, some how balanced on the back seat. It was disconcerting because the mirror was not covered, so it appeared the driver was going in two directions simultaneously.
Then there is also the crazy way moto drivers zoom at intersections: a sort of dance by which any semblance of left-hand or right-hand right of way is completely optional.
Hard to believe, but after a week of being here, one loses all fear of motos. We've yet to see a single accident, and we've never heard anyone raise their voice in anger. Road rage does not seem to exist. People merely toot twice and pass you; on the left or the right or anyway they can, three or four or five at a time. It's a ballet, crazy and beautiful to watch.
That's the way it is on the Moto Planet of Siem Reap. Phnom Penh, by comparison, is a mad house.
This temple is a mountain temple with two long pathways to it: one for people and one for elephants. It's also called the sunset temple but we went when no one was there.
Today we went to an abandoned temple an hour's drive from the tourist temples. This is what we did.
Most of these photos were shot with my Black Berry Curve PDA/Cell phone. It was very handy and with the 2 megapixel camera, it was convenient to take a shot and email it to friends immediately.
Unfortunately, while climbing over these massive stones, I slipped and dropped the cell phone. Fortunately, the Black Berry is pretty rugged and it still functioned just fine. Only, considering the abrasive nature of those stones, I was worried about the plastic and the screen getting scratched.
Normally, I don't promote any products, but in this case I have to acknowledge that Invisible Shield -- a thin protective cover that I'd purchased online -- completely saved the day. The shield itself was slightly scratched, after the cell phone slid down the rocks and into a crevice. But the plastic itself was unscathed. Amazing. They say that they use this same covering in the military to protect helicopter blades from wear in the deserts of Iraq. I believe it. This stuff is a great covering to protect a cell phone. Best of all, it comes with a life-time replacement guarantee. I've since emailed Zagg -- the organization that sells Invisible Shield -- for a replacement. I'll post here if they come through. But even if they don't replace it, the product is definitely worth the extra price.
Thanks to all of you who expressed concern about Arwen's condition. This is a brief note to let you know of her progress.
The examination at the hospital and the diagnostic test and X-ray indicated that she had picked up some form of bacteria that caused her bronchitis. The sent the X-ray to Bangkok to get a consultation from a specialist. The specialist said that the infection was not pneumonia. The increased the strength of antibiotics and today it seems she started to turn a corner. She says she will probably go in to work (teaching English classes) tomorrow, but we'll see.
Bryan has been a real champ - acting as caregiver while arranging transportation for us as well. This was not as easy as it may sound because the rain yesterday turned their road into soup with potholes four and five feet wide and 8 to 12 inches deep. He has escorted us on his moto leading our tuk tuk driver to our destination and then returning home to take care of Arwen.
But she's getting better so thanks for your kind thoughts.
Today Tobias took us out to Balang Commune to inspect the site of the Human Translation water project. Too much stuff to write now. But more is coming. It was by far the most amazing day of our trip to date.
Gogi, Whiskey, and Coka are dogs that came with Arwen and Bryan's house along with a bunch of puppies.
Khmer dogs are indeed strange looking to us but they have personalities that make the usual American breeds seem like beach blonds or something. They cause one to speculate on the symbiotic relationships the canines establish with humans.
First of all, I think Khmer dogs are skinny for the simple reason that dogs in some Kymer households are considered a protein source - though not a common menu item. (Black dogs are considered tastier than other colors.) So there's possibly a Darwinian predisposition to remain scrawny-looking.
Secondly, most we've seen seem somewhat low to the ground - perhaps to better spot the crickets and other bugs upon which they seem to munch quite happily. And since they are used as guard dogs, they're very handy to have around.
But personality-wise they seem to observe humans with a philosophical eye - a permanent under class just above chickens in the social hierarchy.
Gogi is Arwen and Bryan's 8 week old black with a kind of long snouzer sort of nose and he's quite the spoiled little Khmer pup. He watches and listens attentively and then runs off to do what he wants. He's Coka's puppy and already he's almost as big. His father is a tan Khmer dog from the neighborhood who shows up outside from time to time to mark the fence on his rounds.
Gogi is cute beyond cute and Arwen and Bryan hope to bring him back to the states.
We've taken Arwen to the Royal Angkor Hospital here in Siem Reap to have her checked out for pneumonia or whatever she has.
Bryan called several times before we could find a tuk-tuk driver who could ferry us all. It took him a while to find our house.
This is a very new and modern hospital - less than a year old and it's equivalent to Queen of the Valley in Napa. There are two hospitals in Siem Reap and this is one of them aimed specifically to Western clientele. The other one is the Siem Reap Children's Hospital that John Morgan helped to build and at which he was the chief administrator for many years. (John is currently starting a new project building a hospital boat to take medical services down the rivers to villages. A really interesting concept since the transportation infrastructure is so rudimentary. )
The RAH here is immaculate, the nurses in crisp white uniforms and the staff extremely professional. But it is very expensive by Khmer standards - $120 to see a doctor).
There is free Internet while we're waiting and they serve coffee and tea!
Arwen is in seeing the doctor now and we've already contacted the insurance provider for pre-certification so I'm certain things will be fine. It's another contrast here and an indication of how quickly this area is changing. The roads are really bad outside the main drag with bamboo shacks and power lines that look like confetti hanging from make-shift poles. And then there are the hotels shiny and new and this amazing hospital.
We made it to Siem Reap after seven amazing days of travel. First we were in Bangkok and did the usual touristy things while we acclimated to both the heat and the culture shock of a 2nd World culture. Many of the photos we took are loaded up to google but I can't get google to work right now or I pass along the link.
We met Tobias and Arwen and Bryan in Phnom Penh and moved from a 2nd World culture to a 3rd World Post Apocalyptic one. PP is rising from the ashes of the Year Zero Khmer Rouge' experiment and it's a crazy place with a Wild West sort of atmosphere. Our taxi driver moved to PP in 1979 right after Pol Pot emptied the city and he said there just 200 people left in town. It had been one of the most beautiful French Colonial cities in SE Asia. Then it was deserted and ransacked. Today it is a madhouse of reconstruction and new building is going on everywhere. 1.4 million inhabitants now.
Tobias had arranged for us to stay our first night at a beautiful western-style guest house - with a pool and all sorts of amenities. It was a lovely gesture and it allowed us to unwind. That night we took a tuk-tuk to a restaurant run by an NGO and had a great meal. The next morning we swam in the pool and then took a bus to Kep.
The bus ride was a trip - literally and figuratively - that I'll never forget. The bus was ok - with something like AC struggling to keep us cool - as we headed south through the countryside to the coast. The contrasts were everywhere as we moved from 3rd World city economy into the rural agrarian economy of rice fields, cows, water buffalos, roadside stands, houses on stilts and - in the distance - lush coastal mountains. There were newly refurbished Wats every few miles and the pervasive Political Party buildings (bright and shiney and newly constructed) beside shacks of wattle and palm fronds.
The two lane highway was swarmed with moto-bikes, bikes, and trucks and cars - as well as ox carts and swamp tractors. The mode of driving is to go as fast as you can, with you hand on the horn, weaving and dodging down the middle of the highway. The trip to Kep took us six hours with one stop about half-way. As soon as we stepped off the bus we were swarmed by children selling things in baskets - candy, water, satay, chips. If you said "ati akun" (no thank you) they just stood beside you holding their baskets, waiting against chance. Polite but ready. (To give you an idea of the contrast in the value of money - the exchange rate is $1 US for about 4000 Real. I made the mistake of tipping a cabbie $1 for helping us move bags and he held it up to sky and then kissed it, smiling happily).
Makes one feel like a real colonial.
We arrived at Kep in the evening and climbed the hill to our guest house - a place that Tobias christened "the Ewok village" and Arwen said it came right out of an episode of the Myst computer game. The bungalows are up in the trees on stilts surrounding an open air veranda overlooking the Gulf of Thailand. Kep is right on the Cambodian/Vietnam border and was the Rivera of Cambodia before the civil war. There were hundreds or thousands of modern villas built here, overlooking a rocky shingled beach and they once trucked in sand from the north to make it more like the beaches of Thailand. The invasion of the Vietnamese turned it into a house-to-house war and now all the villas are bombed out shells - some with squatters living in them, but most simple abandonded. It's spooky to see these burnt out shells being overrun by the jungle. Thirty years of jungle growth is a testiment to the impermanence of human industry, and what's really telling is that the native Khmer aren't really interested in resurrecting them for their own use but have built new since the 1990s in the style that they prefer. We climbed up through some of the ruins, being mindful to stay on the beaten pathways because there are still unexploded munitions hidden in the undergrowth.
Tobias had contracted some sort of bug and was feeling very bad and we convinced him to get some antibiotics before it turned into pnemonia, but the nearest pharmacy was in Kam Pot, so he hired a moto-driver to take him the 15 miles to the town. Meanwhile the rest of us wandered the road along the waterfront.
Bryan bought rambuthan fruit from a woman on a bike and we rented hamocks and ate and watched a squall blow in from Vietnam. Got caught later walking back. Arwen was also coming down with the bug so we were starting to get worried about her.
One interesting incident was the attack by giant red ants on Tobias' computer. He had left it out in his bungalow and some small ants came to eat the crumbs in his keyboard. These ants then attracted the giant ants who were hunting the smaller ones. By the time he had returned to his room a full-fledged battle had ensued with millions of ants swarming inside the machine. Needless to say he decided not to turn it on again and we still don't know if the machine still functions.
That night we found a beach restaurant that served us wonderful Khmer fish dishes that prompted Bryan to say it was the best food he'd eaten in Cambodia. We ate and ate and drank beer and ate some more and in the end we were charged $35 for the lot, including tip.
We had planned to take a boat to Rabbit Island the next day but we decided it was best to get Arwen and Tobias to a doctor so we rented a minibus to drive back to PP. Again a mad dash through the countryside to stay at Tobias' favorite guest house called "OK Guest House".
The OK Guest House is a backpacker's place that is hard to describe. The central entryway is jammed with parked tuk-tuks, tables, and signs for tourism trips. The tv is always on with either a movie or CNN or BBC. Our rooms were clean although you got to them via a narrow stairway that ran along the outside of the building, around and around.
By the time we arrived it was too late to see much so Tobias and Arwen and Bryan took us to the FCC which is a restaurant frequented by western journalists. We ate up on the third balcony overlooking the Mekong River. The contrasts between what we as Westerners were privy to spend and what was going on down below is the streets - mothers using their sleeping children for begging on the street corners beneath flashing neon broadway signs that advertise Lexus and western clothes - it's hard to describe and contextually confusing until you grow used to it all.
Bryan took us the following morning to see the royal palace - a short walk from the OK. The Silver Pagoda was supposed to have a silver floor but they had covered it with carpets. The gallery of frescos were heavily destroyed by the Khmer Rouge' but parts were still visable. The many pagodas and the complete French wrought iron house sent by Napolean the 3rd had a seedy sort of ruty patina. But it was worth it to see what the Khmer Rouge' had preserved as a cultural heritage while they brutalized the common folk in work camps. We didn't have time to visit the Killing Fields museum that trip but Judith and I will be returning through PP on the way back and will see it on our own.
The interesting personal observation for me was how Tobias negotiated in the Khmer language - conversing with tuk-tuk drivers and talking with strangers. He seems to be a well-known personage and his cordial interactions put us all at ease.
We rented a taxi and were driven up to Siem Reap yesterday - another crazy driving experience and this time we almost got squeezed between a moto bike a car a truck and an ox cart as we zoomed along. It's a frightening experience to ride in these cabs for westerners I think but the drivers seem to take it all in stride. What normally is a six and a half hour bus ride was whittled down to four and a half.
Arwen and Bryan's house is a rental that was built last year and is a Western style exterior with marble floors and wainscotting in a gated yard. It's very nice with very high ceilings and decoratively carved furniture. They graciously let us have the room with ac - and we're grateful becuase it is swealtering. Their puppy is named Gogi and is a cute Khmer sort of mutt - black and a heart-stealer. Very smart.
Today we went to the farm of friends of Tobias' - John Morgan and Meako - out of town and had a Sunday dinner with their circle of expatriot friends. It was great to relax outside under the veranda and just talk and listen and feel a part of what's happening here. They all seem genuinely fond of Tobias and Arwen and each has a different set of stories about how they began their work in NGOs. . Tempting stories. Very tempting.
On the way back from the farm - over the washed out red clay road - I sat in the back of the truck with Bryan as we drove through little hamlets of Khmer houses. Everywhere kids waved and smiled and seemed pleased to see the strange Barang so far from the tourist roads.
We drove through a section of the Bayon Temple - part of the Ankgor Wat complex - and stopped and climbed around in the dusk. Too difficult to describe the scale of just this one temple. We'll go back later to do a whole day of exploring. It was overwhelming.
As we drove home squadrons of fruit bats flew across the sky - hundreds of bats with wingspans about 2 feet - silent in the twilight, while cicadas droned deep eiry buzzes that sounded curiously like clarion horns in the forest.
For dinner we ate at a favorite Indian restaurant in the colonial section of town then walked to the hotel where Bryan works. Inside the five star hotel were modern sculptures and drawings and an amazing display of western opulance. We ate ice cream and gelato on large reclining beds in the lobby. Brian showed us around a little and then we headed back outside into the "other" Siem Reap with tuk-tuks and motos and children on the street hawking and begging.
Then home to bed. So many contrasts, Judith said it felt like cultural whiplash all the time.
All the friends who work at the various NGOs said it was like feeling the ground constantly moving beneath your feet. What was wattle yesterday is now a five star hotel. What was marsh is now a shopping mall. Somewhere, caught in the middle of this all, are the Khmer people - who have suffered so much in silence and without visible anger. The injured, the lost, the old, the young.... I just see in my mind's eye those kids waving to us from their shacks. And then the little three year chanting to us in the dirt parking lot, holding her plastic bag filled with string bracelets "Only won doe lar please. Only won doe lar please. Five for three dollar please. Only won doe lar please...."
She was no taller than Tristan and it made me cry.
