Escapes from Reality

Legislation, Snookeling and Grandparents
It's just a random selection of things...

From Sarah: The title of this blog is just a random sample of some of the diverse activities I have been involved in over the last many months since I last pulled my weight with the blog.

Legislation - as you can imagine, this is work related, and don't worry those of you who have already decided they really must go and paint that fence - I am not going to paralyse you with too many details. Suffice it to say that the Law on the Protection and Promotion of the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, was finally signed by the King on 3rd July - and 'Hurrah' say all of us! As this law has been in development for about 13 years as far as I can remember (and the few months I spent involved with it did seem to add up to about that), I have had little contribution to make to its content. However, it was developed in a consultative process between Khmers and advisers from many different countries over the years, it was then drafted in Khmer, for all the agonising adoption protocols, and then had to be translated into English. All 14 chapters and 60 articles of it:

The Translation Team:
Mr Lao Veng, Director of Rehabilitation Department, MoSVY
Mr Ngy San, Disability Advisor, MoSVY/AusAID
Mr Thong Vinal, Executive Director, DAC
Mr Mar Channat, Deputy Director of Rehabilitation Department, MoSVY
Mr Vorn Samphors, Deputy Executive Director, DAC
Mr John Honney, Lawyer and Disability Rights Advisor, CT
Mr Von Ton, Project Officer, OHCHR
Mr Ung Sambath, Senior Program Coordinator, DAC
Ms Sarah Jago, Inclusive Educatio Advisor, DAC/VSO
Ms Kheng Sisary, P&O Clnician / Mentor, CT

Enter (see above) yours truly, and our lawyer friend John, a man of startling integrity and commonsense apart from his bizarre quirk of being a QPR supporter. Now, the brightest among you will have spotted the flaw in the idea of me and John (neither of us known for our fluency in Khmer aside from being able to argue over a bar tab (me) and swear imaginatively and vociferously at 4x4 drivers who are trying to knock him off his bike (John), and both being basically illiterate in Khmer script), being of any use in translating from Khmer to English. But that's not it. What we had to do was ensure that the translation was a) grammatically correct English and, more importantly, b) we did not change the meaning from the Khmer in the process of making it read better in English. This was surprisingly tricky sometimes, and made more so by the - ahem - personalities of some (well one actually) of the team involved.

Luckily, up to now, I had honestly never been a victim of hierarchy or sexual discrimination at work. My director & deputy and other colleagues always treat me with the utmost respect, ask my advice on most important (and all unimportant) matters, seriously listen to my suggestions, debate with me about them, accept them or not on their merits, and I had got used to this very pleasant way of working. Now, as my nearest and dearest will attest, I am somewhat of a stickler for detail (some might say of a pedantic nature - I have heard the phrase 'Conan the Grammarian' more than once), and this was my strength in this delicate situation, combined with John's indisputable expertise in legal matters. Between us (as has been proved many times at the bi-weekly pub quiz) we are a formidable team. However, I was now in the bizarre position of being totally ignored by a senior government officer who continually deferred to John. Many times I would make a suggestion or raise a problem with a phrase or article, everyone in the room would listen, nod approvingly, and then Mr. Blank (who had control of the lap top and editing - grr!!) would either totally ignore it or look straight at John and ask him a slightly different but related question. John, like a good chap would say things along the line of, 'well as Sarah rightly says....' and the thing would be saved plus or minus a bit more haggling. His monumental patience was finally stretched beyond breaking point on about day 4 when we were all heartily sick of fiddling about with one of the employment articles which talked very generally about veterans without stipulating any detail. The morning before, I had pointed out how this could be simply reworded in order to avoid a horrible ambiguity that would lead to all sorts of unnecessary sub legislation to guard against it. Totally ignored, and somehow we just lost the will to battle on with it. The next day , the same problem came up with regard to pensions and off they went again... John pointed out in no uncertain terms that I had suggested the solution 24 hours before, 'but none of you were listening to her!' Things improved dramatically after that. Eventually it was done and now we have a wonderful document full of great ideas for improving the lives of PWD which will now take months/years more work on sub decrees to define the broad content and make it of any practical use, not to mention the funds to provide any of the services, but you have to start somewhere. Drop by drop as the saying goes...

On a rather more immediately practical note, Sokhim and I have developed a set of leaflets designed to assist teachers in identifying children with visual, hearing, motor, intellectual or speech disabilities in their classrooms, together with practical tips to aid in learning, assistive devices and any other interventions that may be accessed in their areas. The idea was enthusiastically embraced by the Ministry for Education and relevant funding organisations and the leaflets have been published and are ready for distribution. We will be delivering an initial training session soon and then the plan is for provincial VSO education volunteers to make sure that this is rolled out within the districts - this is always the tricky part. There is plenty more work stuff I could relate but I dare say it's time for a cup of tea by now!

Malaysia: A proper holiday, albeit we still can't seem to manage more than 9 days at a stretch. Still - out of Cambodia and not back to UK! In September we spent one night in KL, took a bus to Malacca for 3 nights, another to the opposite coast for one night and then an early boat to Tioman Island for 3 nights and then flew back to KL and next day back to Phnom Penh. Those of you with access to my facebook profile can see lots of nice photos there - don't think anyone has yet though... so here are a few which give a tiny taste of the joys Malaysia has to offer:

Malacca has a fascinating history and was the centre for the Baba Nyonya, the distinct racially mixed group descending from the very wealthy Chinese merchants who settled here in the C19th and married into the local Malay nobility. There are some gorgeous family homes preserved and open to the public to look around, but maybe not for much longer as family pressures to divide up the heritage mount through each generation, and the nationalist Malaysian governnment doesn't seem that bothered about the past. It will be a real shame if all that is lost and impossible to recreate once those family treasures are dissipated. This is the interior of a Chinese Malay teashop where we spent a very pleasant couple of hours chatting to the charming proprietress while she decided on which teas were the best for us to try and gave us a fascinating insight into the whole tea culture - quite different to the rather overstylised Japanese tea ceremonies we are more familiar with:

Tiomen (the island where South Pacific was filmed) is delightful, it does not seem to have been developed much since the prophesies of doom in the Lonely Planets etc from 10 years ago.

Mainly because, short of someone spending billions razing half of the island and concreting it over in order to provide a bigger landing strip (bigger being the only adjective possible in comparison to the back garden sized plot presently used which is barely adequate for getting to KL and back by White Knuckle Airways), it is just not possible to get enough tourists there to warrant building big hotels or whatever places usually do to become fouled up. You have to walk everywhere once you land at the jetties in each bay - the locals ride kids' bikes or little motorbikes with carts attached.


This is our hut over the sea with jungle directly behind through which we had a pleasantly intrepid hike for about 50 mins, with lots of stops to gaze at monkey families, black squirrels and various birds and plants, in order to reach the red gold sands of blissful Monkey Bay. Perry took this picture of his footprints going just the one way to prove the point! I am somewhere in the very top end of the beach, probably grappling with my snorkelling gear:

We had the bay to ourselves, apart from one couple walking through, for the entire afternoon. I finally learned to snorkel under Perry's inexhaustible and patient instruction and am now seriously hooked.

The next day we rather regretted using up the whole of on trekking over the waist of the island to the east coast. We had to get a taxi back as the hike was far longer than we were informed, although neither of us are dawdlers; we simply had to rest a bit when we got to the other coast and would have become trapped in the jungle after dark on the way back. The next day we had the whole morning before having to leave, but the sea was too rough for snookeling (see notice below) after a big storm in the night. 3 nights was not near enough - we will return, maybe not for a year or too, but we will! Sadly I feel skupa driving (see notice below) will remain an unexplored pleasure for me.

Captions for this next photo please. The prize will be a 20x10 glossy framed print of the photo:

Second prize will be two copies of the photo, third three copies and so on...

Okay I was lying about not talking about work any more. Funding proposals. That's it.

Meet the Grandparents On October 18th - to quote Margaret Thatcher - we became a Grandmother. To Felix, a delightful little chap who we got to meet a mere 10 days after his arrival, which wasn't bad going really. I stayed for 3 weeks, Perry for 2, but in that 2 weeks an unbreakable bond was forged by dint of Grandad's big shoulder and chest being a top favourite site for some peace and quiet when young Felix was feeling tetchy. Here are a couple of photos of us with him at the time. He's probably sitting up and demanding 3 course meals by now, but that's what you get for sneaking in a year before your Grandparents were scheduled to be around a bit more!



I was going to add photos and some description of the Ankor Wat Half Marathon (10k for some of us) in early Dec., but this entry is being weird and not letting me add pictures and I am losing the will to live - so will start a new blog with that.... bye for now

VSO is a leading development charity with almost 1,500 skilled professionals currently working in over 34 countries. VSO's unique approach to international development is founded on volunteers, working together and with local communities to fight poverty and achieve lasting change. If you want to learn more about VSO, please visit www.vso.org.uk

Cambodia by Night

We've talked a bit about what we do at work and during the daytime. Now for the seamier side... But we should let you know that there are some pretty shocking things in this post. You've been warned.

Phnom Penh after dark

So what do we do here after the sun goes down? Well, here's a quick list:

Monday. Sarah - yoga at local yogym (well, it's a word now). Perry - exercise and cook dinner.

Tuesday - alternate weeks (1). Sarah - meditation at local Wat. Perry - watch football on telly and then join Sarah for cheap curry afterwards.

Tuesday - alternate weeks (2) Beating all opposition at quiz night at the bar. Nay, crushing them. Humiliating them. Unless we don't win.

The team celebrates once more. Yes, there is money involved

Wednesday. See Monday.

Thursday. Not a lot.

Friday. Meet VSO gang and assorted hangers on at bar in centre of Phnom Penh (almost a mile away from our offices!) at 5.30. Go out for dinner at about 7.30 with those who haven't already gone to bed. However, also sometimes used as the starting point for birthday parties and such - like Vic's 21st pictured below.

Perry and Adam try to decide what colour drink to have next. No, really - it was that bad a night

Saturday. Depends - especially if Perry is still lost on the far side of the Mekong.

Sunday. See Thursday.

It's just one big non-stop giddy social whirl! But just every so often, the chilling words are spoken at the office by a colleague: "We are going out for a drink after work and we would like to invite you to come along." Abandon hope all ye who hear these words, for they portend the doom of .... karaoke.

But it doesn't start that way. At first, we all sit around, drink beer, chat and have fun. Then the food starts to come. We've already talked quite a bit about Cambodian food but here are a couple of quick updates:

Pickled morning glory (a water weed) is delicious.

Unripe mango in fermented fish sauce isn't. It's different. Unusual. Horrible. That's the good things about it exhausted.

There are usually multiple courses, many of which are recognisable and some of which aren't. Quality can be a bit variable: in one recent meal, the beef was clearly from a cow that had had a long and hard life. And from the taste of it, down the mines. Even my Cambodian colleagues only ate most of it. On the other hand, the wild pig was excellent - until you got to the bit that was just fat and skin (end even a few hairs).

There is normally a pièce de résistance at the end, often one or more whole fish. Usually served steamed, like this snakehead below.


I don't think that's its tongue. I hope that's not its tongue! Anyway, it was very tasty. However, what comes next is not for the faint hearted. On a recent trip to one of the provinces, Perry was enjoying every part of the meal and starting to wonder what was wrong. He needn't have worried. For the final course, a large dish bearing an upturned, steamed, whole turtle appeared. He's had turtle before - the delicacy is the intestines. Delicacy, of course, being a euphemism for 'really, really revolting, horrible, disgusting bit'. No problem, he's been eating and enjoying lots, so he can just claim to be full. Too late. The provincial chief has specially selected for him the very best bit and placed it in his bowl. The severed head.

One of his colleagues, clearly envious, points out that the meat on the neck is particularly delicious. Well, in fact, it wasn't bad at all and had the two advantages of being very small in quantity and, more importantly, taking about 10 minutes to remove with chopsticks, spoon and swearing. By which time everyone else had polished off every last other bit of the turtle (I never did see what happened to the shell). Shame. I just hope I didn't insult tradition by not doing as they do and taking the time to suck all the good bits out. Those of a squeamish persuasion (or of any sensibility whatsoever) should look away now.

Still, it could be worse. Earlier this week Perry was in a bar with some colleagues when a wildlife programme came on the TV in the corner. It was about Komodo Dragons: the endangered 10 foot long monitor lizards that only live on one island in Indonesia (coincidentally enough, called Komodo). A colleague spots the programme. Quote: "Very good taste." I don't think he was talking about its dress sense. I suppose if I was offered the head of one of those I could just try to hide in it...

At this stage, distractions can come in handy. Who knows the word for 'cheers' in the most languages? OK, let's try them all (and stop looking while the guest of honour buries the turtle's head under a pile of rice). The best one for doing this to is the Vietnamese: Yo! Just like it's written - it's even said in a loud American accent. Unfortunately, this option was not available for quite a while as Perry (for reasons that shall forever remain a mystery, especially to him) gave up alcohol for the duration of our daughter/grandson's pregnancy. She knew early, and the little... fellow was late, so that's 8 months. During this period, he had to munch his way through the Cambodian creative cookbook without any anesthesia. Which means he can remember it all. Especially the turtle. (Actually, I was back on the beer by then, so perhaps it was even worse than I recall.)

Sarah, on the other hand, tucks in to something nice to eat

By this time on a normal social soiree, though, some of the assembled multitude are starting to be a little bit the worse for wear. Like quite a few Asian peoples, Cambodians can't metabolise alcohol very well. But, apparently, they love a challenge.

And this has some interesting, if difficult, results. We can start to talk a bit more about the past: quite a few people have now told us how they survived the Khmer Rouge period. Some will tell you openly during the day, others will only talk about it when they have had a drink to loosen their tongues and, perhaps, numb the memories. Some were lucky - living in what had been a fruit growing district in the middle of nowhere, where even the KR rarely came. Others walked hundreds of kilometres to the refugee camps across the border in Thailand. Some survived the work parties - they don't give details. Most were very young: in Perry's building, about 90% of the staff are under 40. We already know that many of the older members of their families did not survive the genocide. In some cases, none of the other members of their families.

But there are others who you just don't feel you can ask about it. For example, one of Perry's colleagues is about 63 years old, which means he would have been about 29 when the killing began. I don't know how it affected him, but during the day, he just spends most of the time sitting quietly and upright at his desk, often reading the paper (his job appears to be the office gofer and paperwork-stamper and, if there's no going fer or stamping to be done, he doesn't have anything else to do). When you come in, he doesn't acknowledge you (we used to work in the same office, although I'm now in a different one). When I arrived, he spoke not one word of English. But when he does engage - when there's a jokey debate going on or, especially, when we go out in the evening, he joins in wholeheartedly. He especially likes having a drink with me and has learned some English just so that he can talk to me in it. But the following morning, it's back to looking through you as you come in to the office.

Despite his menial job, he's obviously intelligent and educated. Just the kind the KR wanted to eliminate. I don't know what happened to him and I don't know if I ever will.

But let's get back to a lighter note: it's now time for the highlight of the evening. We're all moving on to the karaoke bar. We should point out that karaoke bars in Cambodia can be anything from selected corners of family restaurants to the equivalent of the sleazy Soho massage parlour. Most are somewhere in between. But all feature that essential singalongacrapsongs element. Actually, Cambodians all seem to have lovely singing voices and are pretty good at it (perhaps through practice). Perry, on the other hand, isn't. As we all discovered on 'turtle night'.

Now, in my defence, I can turn out a reasonable rendition of one or two more simple little tunes (all of which seem, admittedly, to come from the 1960s). In Japan, I'm even renowned for my renditions of 'Satisfaction' and 'My Generation' (but let's not go into too much detail here). However, the karaoke machines here are mainly full of terabytes of Cambopop. How to describe it... Like the worst of Europop from the 1970s but worse. Much worse. Squealing guitars, groaning synthesisers and wailing vocals. Luckily, I could claim quite reasonably that not only did I not know the tunes, I also couldn't read either the titles or the lyrics because they were all in Khmer.

"Ot panyaha" (see previous post) they say - there's an English section. No there isn't, there's a b****y "Worst of Europop from the 1970s" section. Ah, wait, no, there are one or two songs that I both recognise and remember. And that I can't sing.

In desperation, I went for Bob Bylan's 'Knocking on Heaven's Door' - at least it's meant to be sung out of tune. Unfortunately, Cambodia has never heard of Bob Dylan (or the Beatles, or any Western musician/popstar, or anyone from Hollywood, which is just so refreshing). So what they actually had on the machine was a Cambodianised adaptation of the utterly awful Guns'n'Roses massacre of the song. Complete with even more squealing, groaning and wailing.

Perry's colleagues now all agree that he sings like a bear choking on a bullfrog. And that means that since then they've stopped insisting quite so hard that he comes along. Result! But what other tunes could I have chosen from? Well, here are some of the better candidates. I'm not kidding you, these are genuine titles from the list:

Felling. The original inspiration for Monty Python's Lumberjack song? Or taking tree-hugging a bit too far, perhaps.

Tenessee Welts. Sado-masochism means never having to say you're sorry.

Sexy Monty Bitchy. Surely Field Marshall Montgomery's all-time favourite.

Please! Off Postman. Ah, so that's why there's no postal service in Cambodia...

One Sweat Day. They're all sweat days here, actually.

Night In With Satin. That's nice - there are just too many songs about going out and partying.

Show Me The Meaning Of Being Lowly. An old Humble Pie number, I believe.

My Fair Chair. Whatever turns you on. Great legs, though.

Morning Has Broker. Apparently, Cat Stevens was actually thinking of portfolio managers when he wrote this one.

A Vein To A Kill. Come on, the original title didn't make much sense either, now, did it.

Angle. A love song for fishermen, obviously.

To All The Cists I've Love Before. What, all of them?

Put Your Head On My Solder. Well, it's better than Wild Weld...

But, like all nightmares, even karaoke night eventually comes to an end. And, this being a land that rises and sets with the sun, it's normally before what would have been closing time back in the UK. So off we all laugh into the night and, as is their wont here, anyone can drive as long as they can find the keys. And that, of course, is my very favourite bit of the evening.

The limes are delivered for the drinks at for Vic's next birthday party

Just to finish, another fish name for you:

Four-eyed Snakehead. That's you, that is.

VSO is a leading development charity with almost 1,500 skilled professionals currently working in over 34 countries. VSO's unique approach to international development is founded on volunteers, working together and with local communities to fight poverty and achieve lasting change. If you want to learn more about VSO, please visit www.vso.org.uk

Top Travel Tips

A number of people have contacted us recently about traveling to Cambodia, so here are a few useful tips. Welcome to what the Ministry of Tourism has started to brand as

Very appropriate, as a fellow volunteer pointed out: "I wonder where all the aid money went? I wonder where all the trees went? I wonder where all the Khmer Rouge went?" Or, for this particular version of the logo (there are quite a few variants): "I wonder where all the wildlife went?" I wonder if the setting sun was put there deliberately by the designer...

Nevertheless, we wouldn't be here if we didn't think it was worthwhile, and tourism is an important element of Cambodia's road out of poverty. So stop whatever it is you're doing and bring your dollars.

What to bring

First and foremost, make sure you pack appropriate clothing. Remember to cut holes in it if you want to see the sights (and where you're going).

Accommodation

Be prepared for a unique and exceptional standard of luxury international accommodation. However, a room with a tree may cost extra.

Always try to abide by the rules of the house.


Dining

Be prepared to try the unusual. Service can sometimes be a bit variable


Health

Make sure you wear one of those really useful face masks at all times, because they'll keep you safe from everything you might encounter.

But don't worry, Cambodian traditional medicine (tnam borann) is second to none.

Sexual incompetent: is this someone who keeps on making mistakes? If so, I think I've worked with a few in the past. If only I'd known the term...

There may occasionally be one or two minor side effects from your medication, including mild hallucinations. Don't worry about them.

Language

Don't rely on the people you meet being able to speak or understand English, especially away from Phnom Penh. However, even if you learn Khmer, many Cambodians will not expect to be able to understand you and so won't. A recent attempt to order an iced coffee with milk in both Khmer (by quite a good speaker) and English, coupled with pointing to an identical drink that was sat in front of another member of the party, met with total failure. The word coffee (cafe) was repeated slowly and often and finally led to a brief glimmer of understanding, followed by even deeper confusion, when the waitress remembered there were almost limitless options in how it might be served (hot/cold, milk/no milk). Success was only finally achieved when charades skills were incorporated into the conversation by using fingers as horns whilst mooing, followed by shivering and going "Brrrr."

It should be pointed out that iced coffee with milk (cafe teuk dto koh teuk kork - literally, 'coffee water breast cow water hard') is perhaps the most widely ordered drink in Cambodia, but this is no guarantee of success if you happen to want one. The wise traveler therefore has two options: be persistent (although it'll probably be to no avail) or just give up and try somewhere else. Which will probably be to no avail either. Or else just bring everything you plan to eat or drink with you (see dining).

All you need to know about language in Cambodia is contained in a recent piece of advice on Cambodian television. Cambodian TV often shows films in English, so they naturally need sub-titling. In English. However, this isn't always as superfluous as might be thought. A recent broadcast of the classic Charlton Heston epic The Ten Commandments brought a whole new slant to one of the key tenets of Judaeo-Christian morality:

"Thou shalt not commode a pottery."

Perhaps something similar happens with Khmer sub-titling too, which might help explain why they don't expect to be able to understand you. Although, to be fair, Khmer has about 73 distinct sounds compared to the 42 or so that are used in English, so we're probably saying "my hovercraft is full of eels" on a fairly regular basis. Perry is personally unable to make, or indeed even hear, the (apparent) difference between the sounds that mean either "headphones" or "air conditioning." The intrepid traveller will recognise the importance this difference can make on a 7-hour Cambodian bus journey.

Another peculiarity of Khmer is that the last consonant of a word is not audibly pronounced (at least, not to barang ears). This can lead to interesting misunderstandings when Cambodians do the same in English. In a discourse that happened a few months ago between a Cambodian gentleman and two barang ladies about the statues of the half-naked dancing girls (apsaras) at Angkor Wat, the phrase "We repay with semen" was interjected into the conversation. Luckily one of the ladies had been here long enough to work out what was actually being described. "We repaired it with cement." was what he really said. At least, we hope so. Perhaps that's why the only one of the 1,860-odd statues who's smiling is the one who's the most difficult to get at.

Many Cambodians have, however, picked up English vernacular quite well:

"It ******" = it's broken but we can repair it (probably, eventually).

"It ****" = it's broken and we don't know how to repair it.

Neither necessarily means that it is or isn't repairable; the difference between ******ed and ****ed is whether or not they think they know how to repair it. This may include such bizarrely advanced concepts as replacing the screw, plugging it back in, etc, but on the other hand it may involve attempting to build you a replacement warp drive out of the various bits and bobs that they've got lying around in an old ammunition case (the standard Cambodian toolbox).

The local branch of Quikfit. Or, as it's more likely to be, Quikphut, as the second hand elastoplast they've just used to mend your inner tube fails to make it past the first pothole.

"It work fine, no problem." This is one of the only two times Cambodians ever say no.

Use of the word 'no'

Ot panyaha: No problem. Only the word 'no' is of significance here; the phrase neither confirms nor denies the actual existence of a problem, only the denial that such a concept exists.

Ot mean: No have. One meaning of this is a polite way of saying "it ****" - as in ot mean the things necessary to repair it with. Customers of Sharon and Tracey in shops in the UK will recognise another use of ot mean: "I don't want to deal with you because you're interrupting my busy schedule of doing nothing by asking for things that I can't immediately see right in front of me." This, however, is a fairly rare use of the phrase, as Cambodians are usually desperate to sell you anything, even if it's something you have no interest in or desire for whatsoever. Watch out for this particular phenomenon whenever you come within 200 metres of a market. More typically, ot mean in this situation means "I haven't got a clue what you're asking for and I'm slightly afraid of you because you're big and foreign and I will never understand you so please go away." This use is more often encountered in the provinces than in Phnom Penh. Sometimes, though, ot mean can be used for all three meanings simultaneously, which makes it an important phrase for the intrepid traveler to understand.

Use of the word 'yes'

Never ask a moto driver if he knows the way to somewhere or where somewhere or something is. He will always answer "yes" because he does indeed know the way to where he's going to take you. This is tied to the interesting fact that Cambodians actually appear not to have a concept for getting or being lost. How could you be? You know exactly where you are: you're here. There's no such place as anywhere you don't know because you've never been there. Hence the answer to the question.

Similarly, an answer of "yes" to other questions can have one of two meanings:

"Yes."

"Yes, I heard your question but I'm not going to answer 'no'. You will be able to tell that my answer is no by the way I will keep on saying 'yes' but with steadily reducing enthusiasm. If my answer was really yes, it would have been followed by ot panyaha (but see above)."

Of course, all of these meanings change once you get to know the Cambodian people better.

Laws and Customs

Do try to avoid any unnecessary run-ins with the law in Cambodia. The sign below says it all:


But is there more truth in this than the writer intended? Allegedly (by the US Ambassador among others), $500 million is 'mislaid' from government accounts each year. This is almost exactly the same amount as is given in international aid. The government, of course, denies this and continues its tireless efforts to finally pass an anti-corruption law. We say tireless, because how they find the stamina to keep going after 11 years of ceaseless toil in drafting this particular piece of legislation surely merits its own reward. Perhaps another Lexus. Yes, that would be nice. Although not, of course, without its drawbacks: as the Deputy Governer of Phnom Penh pointed out in a recent newspaper interview, the city's biggest problem is its lack of parking space. The traveller will be appalled to see the shoddy planning that led to so many slums being built with no thought whatsoever for off-road parking. The traveler should also be cautious of placing himself/herself in a location where a Lexus driver wishes to park (or drive). This is not, of course, because they are arrogant ********s as the less well-informed visitor might mistakenly think, but merely because the blacked-out windows make seeing out so terribly difficult.

Still on the subject of law and lawmakers, the traveller should keep about them a good supply of Cambodian bank notes (4,000 riel to the dollar, with no coins and the smallest note in common circulation being worth 100 riel or 2½ cents). This is because the Cambodian police are rigorous in enforcing any law they can think up on the spot but penance can normally be served by the application of somewhere in the region of $1. Handing it over in riels makes it look like more and is therefore more likely to satisfy the demands of justice. If you don't have riels, you can pay in dollars, which are legal tender in Cambodia, but starting out with dollar bills makes it apparent that you have money and so reduces your scope for bartering with the officer. Of course it's not a bribe, it's a fine - haven't you been reading? Try to keep clean notes if you can.


This particular 12½ cent note is actually a rather good one. The intrepid traveler should think twice about handling some of the better used (though God only knows for what) 100 riel notes he or she may receive in change (see health); these are best passed on to an ever-helpful policeman for safe keeping.

And Finally

Cambodians, except for some small groups that might or might not have been alluded to above, are among the nicest, friendliest, kindest and often happiest people it will ever be your privilege to meet. They will normally greet you with smiles that you just can't help returning. And, despite our sometimes rather cynical view, there are many very fine, dedicated people both in and out of government who are devoting their lives to improving their country.

A visit to Cambodia cannot even begin to scratch the surface of this ancient and complex society, with its terribly scarred recent history. Cambodia has been described as an 'endless onion': beneath every layer there are many more. And some of them will make you mad as hell, and others will tear at your heart. You've been warned!

The Closing Credits

"Some of the events depicted in this blog, while based on actual situations, are of course fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental. Really, we're not referring to any one or any organisation at all. Especially in the bits about the law."

OK, back through the Looking Glass.

VSO is a leading development charity with almost 1,500 skilled professionals currently working in over 34 countries. VSO's unique approach to international development is founded on volunteers, working together and with local communities to fight poverty and achieve lasting change. If you want to learn more about VSO, please visit www.vso.org.uk

Gone Fishin'

Neither of us can believe that we've now been here for 16 months, which means that certain things have been coming around for the second time. Like the lovely aroma when the first storms of the 'little' rainy season give the Suej Canal a good old stirring up. Phnom Penh's seasons are simple:

January - February. The dry season. Characterised by dryness (most of the time) and heat.

March - May. The hot season. Increasing heat. Then more heat, with high humidity and occasional storms.

June - July. The little wet season. Slightly less heat (making it just very hot) and more frequent storms.

August. The little dry season. Sometimes hard to spot, but for a couple of weeks the storms become rarer or even stop. But the temperature goes back up.

September - November. The wet season. Does exactly what it says on the tin: i.e. p****s down. Normally in the form of torrential storms that typically come once or twice a day and last 2 - 3 hours. Pretty much every day, especially when you have to go out. This offers interesting opportunities for underwater cycling. It also cools down so much that it can sometimes take almost an hour for you to dry out while sitting in a bar after a complete through-to-the-skin soaking. In other words, still b****y hot.

November - December. The cool season. Lower temperatures, dry days and cooling winds make this season ideal for barangs looking for somewhere really hot for a holiday. In comparison to the other 44-odd weeks of the year, though: woohoo! However, the wind is always blowing against you on your bicycle no matter what direction you're going in, so the extra effort makes you just as hot as you were before.

But for the people of Cambodia, the main effect of the seasons is on the rivers. The rainy season comes at different times along the length of the Mekong but, basically, the flooding typically starts to reach Cambodia in mid June and runs through until late November. On or about 1 July, the level becomes so high that the Tonle Sap starts to flow back uphill into the Great Lake. This starts the breeding season for the fish and so it's time once more for

National Fish Day!
(Perry's Tale Part 2)

This time, forewarned was forearmed. Once again, there were the crowds. Once again, there were the VIPs. This year, though, the band was missing. Mind you, the event was held in Kep province, close to the sea. Perhaps someone had recognised the risk of all that low-frequency vibration causing a tsunami.

Interestingly, the location was by a large man-made reservoir that filled much of what had been a Japanese airfield during World War II. For the historians, this was the airfield that helped make the invasion of Malaya and the defeat at Singapore possible, after the French kindly let the Japanese use Cambodia (just nicely in range of the Malay peninsular) by surrendering in March 1941, about 8 months before the war actually started.

However, today's invasion was by the Prime Minister and his entourage, together with the 10,000-odd Cambodian people who had come along to witness his first visit to the province since 2003. They came by bicycle, bullock cart, moped and truck. He came by helicopter.

Once again, I had a front row seat, only about 5 places away from the PM. The ceremony was much like last year, but it ended up with him showing just what a shrewd and capable political operator he is. Many of the people of Kep province had written personally to him asking for new school buildings, hospital facilities, roads, etc. The sort of things that it's any government's job to provide. He read out a number of these letters. At the end of each one, there was a pause, followed by the phrase (rather splendidly delivered, I have to admit): "Chuon tam samnour" (fulfill the request). He would then turn to the VIP cage where, on one side, were our hero and some of the other supporters of the fisheries and, on the other, were just about every cabinet minister and most of the senior figures in the CPP. Looking at the party section, he would announce a name, make them stand up, and announce that they were going to pay for this school/clinic/road. The crowd loved it.

Then it was time to release the fish. The PM led the process, with a number of the cabinet ministers and a few selected barang guests, who were shepherded to the front of the line. Including yours truly. Here's the PM releasing the fish.

As you can see, there are a lot of fish in the tank. But he did have first go, so it made it easy to fill the net. There were even still quite a few in there by my turn. However, I think my cry of "I shall weleathe Wodewick" may only have confused people. What kind of fish is a Wodewick? It's certainly not one of these that I managed to scoop up in my net. Luckily, the PM didn't ask me what I meant when he came over to shake my hand afterwards.

And here's one we made earlier. This is what they grow into, waiting in a tank at a restaurant we ate at recently while on a field trip to a fish hatchery (of which more anon). It's called a Clown Featherback and is very tasty.

The fish in the Mekong and the Gulf of Thailand have some absolutely fabulous names; here are just a few examples:

Siamese Flying Fox. It's not a fox and it doesn't fly. It's not even a bat. Perhaps surprisingly, it's no relation to a Siamese cat, either, apparently.

Mekong Honeysucker. Unless they have underwater bees here, I'm not sure how this one got its name.

Bumblebee Catfish. OK, that's that one cleared up then.

Bighead Walking Catfish. Well, you'd be big headed if you were a fish that could walk.

Sicklefin Weasel Shark. 'Nuff said (Kate).

Not just a bizarre item on the Indian restaurant menu but apparently a real fish after all: Bombay Duck. Not a duck, of course, and not from India either. Obviously.

For the Harry Potter fans: Bludger.

For the Darby and Joan members: Common Silverbiddy. Or, for dance night: Painted Sweetlips. And later, Tumid Venus. We'll not dwell on that one.

For those who remember Fatima Whitbread: Javelin Grunter.

For the horse fanciers: Splendid Pony. Yes, it's a fish. Don't try to back it in a race.

Blackeye Thicklip. Perhaps that's what happens to Siamese Fighting Fish that lose. Or maybe they walked into the Propellor Ark. At the front of a flying fish, perhaps?

And to conclude: Belcher's Oyster. Well don't eat so many then!

Of course, that's not what the Cambodians call them. They give them names like 'Trei Riel" (silver fish) or "Trei Changwa Plieng" (rain puddle fish). Probably more accurate. But the main point is that you can eat just about all of them, and they do. But first you have to catch them!

On the main river, where the current flows very fast, the main option is by small boat, as above. Sometimes a number of boats will work together. As you can see, it's a pretty labour-intensive undertaking.

But on the lakes, in the tributaries and in the areas of flooding, much bigger platforms are used. From head on, they look like something out of a science fiction movie. H. G. Wells' Martians fallen on hard times (alright, and with an extra leg).

The pictures below show how it works: the net is attached to the 4 bamboo arms and is raised and lowered by a hand winch situated next to the cabin (or, this being water in Cambodia, perhaps 'shed' would be a more accurate description. And the family do live in there)

The reward for all this can often be small. This is the outcome of a morning's fishing on one particular platform that I visited. They did tell me that things were normally rather better, though.

However, for larger scale operations, you need teamwork to exploit the current.

There are much bigger barriers than this, made out of bamboo, but they're only allowed at certain times of the year in order to make sure they don't deplete the breeding stocks. I haven't been to visit one of those yet, so no picture.

Of course, there is an alternative to catching fish: growing them. The capacity of the natural rivers and lakes is limited, so aquaculture (fish farming) is without question the most important way of increasing the production of fish in line with demand over the longer term.

But Cambodia has got a very long way to go. Aquaculture production in Vietnam is well over 1.2 million tonnes per year. Thailand is about the same. For Cambodia, it's less than 50 thousand. That's less than one twentieth of what Cambodia's neighbours manage, despite Cambodia's need for food security being so much more intense. There are many reasons for this: the recent history of the country, the historical abundance of wild fish (far more than either Thailand or Vietnam) and, last but certainly not least, the need for investment in infrastructure and operations that is required. But Cambodia has no choice: it must grow its aquaculture. The target we have set (based on the demand projections I made last year) is 15% cumulative growth per annum.

So how do we achieve this? Ladies and gentlemen, your correspondent now presents "Janet and John do Aquaculture" or "See Spot Farm Fish." Pay attention: there will be a test at the end.

To start off with, you need fish eggs (we won't get into the whole 'what came first...' bit just yet). These are the little white blobs shown by the arrows in the picture below, which is followed by a picture of one of the tanks in which they are hatched.

Once the eggs are hatched, the baby fish (known as fingerlings) are moved into ponds where they are fed until they reach a size where they can be sold on to other farmers. One hatchery like this can provide fingerlings for a great many farmers.

Of course, to get the eggs, you need adult fish. These are kept in ponds like this one.

I took these four pictures at a private hatchery I recently visited. The farmer had received a $500 loan to set up the enterprise and had already paid this back within 3 years. He now had a thriving business that not only provided him and his family with a good income but also stopped the other local fish farmers from having to buy in fingerlings from Vietnam, so there's an economic benefit as well.

On the other hand, there are large, government-run hatcheries too. Here are a couple of pictures of one I also visited.

In contrast to the private hatchery, which only had two tanks but which were beautifully maintained and in full use, the government institution had loads of huge tanks that weren't being used at all. Except for one that was full of frogs. You can also do an above and below comparison of the associated ponds. The government hatchery had cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to produce. Output from the private one: 700,000 fingerlings last year. Output from the government one: less than 50,000.

So why the difference? A number of reasons, probably. Ownership, entrepreneurism, and empowerment are just three that spring to mind as likely candidates. But I did find out one interesting item at a meeting recently. One of the government hatcheries was recently completely refurbished at a cost (again) of several hundreds of thousands of dollars (kindly donated by Japan). Quite apart from the fact that I can't see how anything in this country can cost that much to build (but then, you've got to make the money to pay for all those schools, roads and hospitals somehow), there was one small fault in the process. No-one thought to include any funding provision for brood stock (the mummies and daddies of all the little baby eggs).

Consequently, when the hatchery was finished, it had no money to buy any fish. This only came out when questions were asked about why the government hatcheries hadn't met their production targets for last year. I held my tongue: the Director General was mad enough for both of us. What came first should have been a b****y plan!

Of course, nothing like that would ever happen in our own country, would it? Noooo.....

But once you have got your fingerlings, all you need are a pond or a cage (in the river) to fatten them up until they're ready to be harvested. It seems that many of the local species will thrive just about anywhere: what looks like a muddy hole below was actually teeming with catfish and carp.

So, to work towards the growth targets, our main interventions will be associated with training small-scale farmers and helping them to dig (and maintain) their ponds. If need be, the majority of the supply of fingerlings will have to keep coming from abroad for the time being. It all shows the need for having clear goals and joined-up plans and, despite the hatchery situation, we have actually made some great strides in this direction over the past year. We now have a much better idea of what we need to do, why we need to do it, and how we will go about it. But Rome won't be built in a day.

To fund our programme, we're almost totally reliant on money provided by donor governments, who get my vote of thanks. There are some issues, however. Some governments seem more interested in getting political brownie points at home rather than actually helping improve the lot of people in Cambodia, so would rather fund headlines than real change. Others will lend money, provided that most of it is spent on services bought from their own technical experts. This is called Tied Aid and is not only a pretty shabby way of helping a poor country but is also not allowed under EU law. This, however, hasn't stopped one EU member nation from proposing this very recently (no, not France, since you ask).

Others seem to be looking for a longer-term return: it appears that Her Majesty's Government may have at least a partial view that aid should be focused where it can help develop a market that the UK can trade with. After a number of years providing, among other things, crucial support to the fisheries sector here, DfID will cease providing support to Cambodia in 2011. I can't resist it: so long, DfID, and thanks for all the fish.

On the other hand, without the international community, we would be going nowhere. So all and any support is, from my perspective, gratefully received. In particular, my own special thanks go to Denmark, who really are key to making our fisheries programme possible.

To close, here are some more pictures (and a clip) of people fishing. It's the only time I've seen anyone using a rod but the people wading into the water to make their living are something you see here every day. Many of them are desperately poor but I really do believe that what we are trying to do now will help to make a difference to their lives in the future. It also feels a lot better on a personal level than helping to enrich Wall Street.

OK, I lied about the test.

VSO is a leading development charity with almost 1,500 skilled professionals currently working in over 34 countries. VSO's unique approach to international development is founded on volunteers, working together and with local communities to fight poverty and achieve lasting change. If you want to learn more about VSO, please visit www.vso.org.uk

A Certain Sinking Feeling...

We did a post a while back about road transport here; now it's time to take to the water. Until a few years ago, the only way to get between many of the towns was by boat and a lot of the general traffic still goes this way. There are also still passenger ferries that run up and down the Mekong and the Tonle Sap but nowadays they're not too frequent. Or too new. This picture was taken at Kampong Cham of one getting a few running repairs.

Always fills you full of confidence, watching them do repairs right on the waterline with apparently nothing more than cigarette butts and a hammer. I had hoped to show a picture of an even older one that had been beached on the bank but unfortunately it got washed away by a flood.

Not all of the vessels look so decrepit. The one below looked gorgeous, with its wood gleaming gold in the sun and reflecting in the blue of the river. You can actually tell the season by the colour of the water of the Mekong: in the dry season, it's blue and in the rainy season it's rich brown from all the run-off (you can see the difference in the photos). But it's always incredibly powerful; the currents can run at anything up to 10 km/hr (or even more at the peak of the wet season).

Many of the boats on the river, however, look like nothing quite so much as animated garden sheds.

Or, in this particular case, a garden shed that's come off its wheels (look on the foredeck...).

Wood does, of course, have one advantage when it comes to boat building: it floats. Metal, on the other hand, doesn't. Not sure that message has entirely got through yet.

Spot the waterline. When I first saw boats loaded like this I thought it amazing that they didn't sink. However, that was before talking to one of my colleagues about it. Apparently they do. Quite often, surprisingly. Or not, depending on your understanding of Archimedes' Principle and your use of the word surprising.

Below is a 'before' picture: as in, before they load it. Quite possibly with all of the scaffolding you can see. And all the other building materials. The most interesting thing about this picture is that the scaffolding is made of metal. Normally, there seems to be no limit to what you can do with bamboo and twine.

Balance is another interesting new-fangled concept that seems to be a bit slow catching on in some places. And it's not even loaded with anything much yet...

Staying with high-tech, in a previous existence, one of my pet hates was when your flight lands on time and then spends about an hour on the tarmac waiting for the gate to be freed up because the aircraft on it has been delayed by yet another French/Spanish/Greek air traffic controllers' strike. This is the Cambodian equivalent: waiting for the other ferry to get clearance to push back from the muddy bank. Still, at least there won't be any unnecessary delays waiting for them to raise the bow ramp: they never bother to do that anyway.

And while we're on about airports, here's the local equivalent of long-term parking. On the other hand, see? Wood floats!

A fact not lost on the owners of the boat below.

Many Cambodians spend much of their lives on the water and they use boats much as others use cars. Here are some examples of typical Mekong river run-abouts.

The standard family vehicle.

The top-of-the-range family vehicle.

The local delivery van.

The level crossing.

The Number 51 bus.

And on this bus - a new version of the old college trick of seeing how many people you can get in a phone box. But using a leaky boat on one of the world's most powerful rivers. And, in this case, barangs (about 30 VSO livelihoods programme volunteers split between the two boats), who typically weigh about one and a half times more than Cambodians. Still, at least they don't normally carry any unnecessary weight like life jackets. In this case, though, as it was an official fact-finding field trip to one of the Mekong islands, they did. They made quite good cushions, as a matter of fact.

Actually, I'm forced to admit that the complete absence of the Health & Safety Nazis is one of the reasons I love Cambodia. The water is their home and they just get on with things.

VSO is a leading development charity with almost 1,500 skilled professionals currently working in over 34 countries. VSO's unique approach to international development is founded on volunteers, working together and with local communities to fight poverty and achieve lasting change. If you want to learn more about VSO, please visit www.vso.org.uk