mum, don't read this

Let me begin by stating, I'm okay. I'm safe, healthy, happy and growing older and wiser by the day.

Now... If I may just briefly revisit the events of last Friday night...

It was a typical Friday night in Phnom Penh. That is to say, myself, Emily and Dee were returning from a night out, hating ourselves just a little bit for ending up at Heart of Darkness, again (a seedy nightclub on the late-night main drag, Street 51).

After paying our tuk tuk driver we approached the guesthouse and (gah!) the big green front gates were locked again, for the third night in a row.

The first time Emily and I had found ourselves street-side of the locked gates, we had tried (unsuccessfully) to rouse the figure sleeping in the make-shift bed five feet from the entrance, but no dice. Calling out, gate shaking, feet stomping; nothing worked. Those Cambodians are heavy sleepers. After contemplating climbing over the top and braving the procession of spear heads crowning the gate, I discovered (with great relief) that if you pull the gate out just enough to reach beyond a dip in the curb, you can (albeit ungracefully) maneuver your way in on your backside.

Well! After this discovery we felt a bit invincible. There was no way they could keep us from our rock-hard beds now. So, after half-heartedly trying to wake the unconscious staff member, we went about our routine of pulling out the gate and worming our way underneath. Emily went first, because she's the "expert", having done it three nights in a row. Dee and I rolled up our sleeves and placed our bags down inside the gate, ready for our slithering act. As I crouched down, a ninja-like figure appeared in my peripheral, snatched one of the bags, and bolted off behind us.

Bear in mind, we had just come home from a night out, and were a little sluggish to put it mildly. However, adrenaline is a funny thing. Suddenly Dee and I were sprinting after the bag thief in our sandals, swearing blue murder as he bee-lined for a waiting moto containing two other youths, revving in anticipation of a quick getaway.

Without warning, I slipped and hit the ground. Hard. There was no pain; all I could think about was getting to the thief before he hopped on that moto and sped away. The universe must've took pity on me, because in a wonderful twist of fate, the bag thief also slipped and dropped the stolen booty. In that rare and triumphant moment, Dee snatched the bag back.

"Run away!" she ordered, with the fury of a mother who's reached her limit. He knew she meant business.

The thief scampered away, bagless, to his moto posse. Still running off adrenaline and absolutely livid, I chased after the moto, yelling out things that I don't think I've ever yelled in my life. They looked both frightened and amused, as they sped away.

Emily woke the staff member and made them let us in. Still shaken, we went up to Dee's room and ate her Pringles until we felt content enough to return to our own room.

It was a harsh wake up call, but bag snatching is so common here in Phnom Penh you should really always have your wits about you. Westerners are are majors targets for this type of crime. We just got lucky this time.

And Mum, if you read this, it's completely made up.

phnom penh style: volunteering in cambodia

When my transfer arrived at Phnom Penn Airport in the form of a dusty red tuk tuk, it was with slightly more than a hint of chagrin that I thought, 'Oh fab. This is home for the next two months'. And truth be told, this encounter pretty adequately set the tone for my Cambodia experience.

I remember clutching my backpack with white knuckles and nodding politely as my Star Kampuchea guide pointed out newly-restored pagodas and dirty historic buildings, while interjecting with important questions like "does the guesthouse have a swimming pool?" and "where is the nearest McDonalds?".

Well, the guesthouse didn't have a pool. And there is no McDonalds. I'm not even kidding. In fact, Phnom Penh only just got their first KFC. I know... Those poor, fast-food deprived bastards. But it's okay, they don't know any better. In their sheltered Third-World minds one of those smelly salted fish hanging in the market stalls and a slop of rice porridge is the equivalence of a Big Mac meal. No really, they love it.

But once you cut through all the dirt, and the bag snatching, and the "hey lady, tuk tuk tuk?", and the travellers diarrhea, and the fried tarantulas, and the tuk tuk drivers who pretend they know where you're going, and the stifling humidity, and the dirt... it's really a lovely place. Filled with $2 foot massages, $1.75 cocktails (check out Mekong Bar on the Riverside), bargains-galore market shopping, and mouth-watering local Khmer cuisine. And you never have to do your own laundry. Ever.

After meeting the other volunteers and doing a bit of sightseeing, they finally set us all to work. I am working for a non-government organisation called Radio Voice of Democracy. My first week was a little rocky, as they thought being a 'web producer' meant that I could also be a 'radio producer'. Just to be clear - I don't know squat about radio producing. The closest I come to having anything to do with radio is an awkward Today FM shout out I did about five years ago after feeling sorry for the intern wandering the streets at 8pm at night with a voice recorder.

Anyway, after sorting the 'producer' confusion, things got a little more interesting. By interesting I mean not sitting in a room doing absolutely nothing. I've been writing reports, drafting emails for colleagues, writing recommendations and assisting with the websites. I also got to attend a peace rally recently, headed by a collective of NGOs at Wat Phnom in the centre of town, which was pretty interesting.

The people I work with are absolutely lovely. And they share everything. It's cute. It's rare that a day goes by that I don't get offered handfuls of local fruit, pickled vegetables with firey dipping salts, Asian candy, pippis or something else equally obscurely fascinating. I'll try anything at least once. Except for fried maggots. They can keep that snacky-poo all to themselves, thanks very much.

At lunchtime (did I mention we get two hour lunch breaks here?) many of the staff gather in the tiny kitchen, find a spot on the floor rug and serve out steamed rice and other fragrant home-made or market-bought fare between them. They usually speak in Khmer but I like to sit down there sometimes and pester them with questions about Cambodia.

As far as travel goes, I've only been down south to Sihanoukville. We stayed on Koh Rong for a weekend (about a two-hour ferry from the main island) which I can't recommend enough. It's so nice to escape the city for white sand, azure waters and beach-side bungalows, if only for a day. But this week should be more interesting as I'll be travelling with work colleagues to the Battambang province to assist with some post-election forums they're hosting. Then I'll go straight from there to Siem Reap for a fun-filled long weekend of temples and floating villages. It'll be great.

I'll leave you all with some photos of me doing stuff in Cambodia. I'm the one with the mean suntan.

Me and my fellow peace pilgrims at Wat Phnom

 

 The lotus flower is a symbol of peace and serenity

Hanging with the other volunteers in Koh Rong

These tribal-esque chickies are my faves...

 Getting my culture on and checking out pagodas with the crew

cambodian food for my mouth hole

Don't ever make the mistake of observing out loud, while slurping down your amok, that Khmer food is "quite similar to Thai". Oh no no no... That would be incorrect my friend. And any Cambodian armed with a basic comprehension of English and within a 10 metre earshot of your ignorant verbal discharge will be only too happy to point that out. Because, of course, it is Thai food that is quite similar to Khmer cuisine.

Let me explain.

In Australia we're blessed with a shizz load of Asian food. Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Malaysian, Indonesian, Japanese... the list goes on. But Khmer food? Not so much. So for many people, their first encounter with Khmer food is in Cambodia. And with it's rich curries and barbecued meats, it does bear some resemblance to it's more widely-recognised culinary cousin. But here's the thing...

Thai cuisine actually borrows from Khmer. It's true. A thousand years ago, the Khmer dynasty ruled most of South-East Asia, so many Thai dishes draw on Khmer specialties. Only Khmer cuisine is so old school that it was invented before the use of chilli in cooking, so you'll notice it definitely has a milder spice factor.

Over the weekend I did a Khmer cooking class, so I'm basically an authority on Khmer cuisine now.

Cambodia Cooking Class Phnom Penh offers classes every day of the week. We did the full-day course for $US23, which involved a trip to the market and making four Khmer dishes: spring rolls, banana blossom salad with chicken, amok (steamed coconut fish in banana leaves) and sweet rice (basically sticky rice with caramelised palm sugar and fresh mango).

Despite an unplanned hangover that day, I really enjoyed the class and the dishes. And best of all, any idiot with a mortar and pestle can make this stuff.

Here's some food for your eyeballs.

 

Spring rolls

 

Banana blossom salad with shredded chicken

 

Amok in a banana leaf

 

Sweet rice with mango