Middle of nowhere

My weekend was supposed to be one long TV marathon and a bit of work for my thesis and a good long sleep. Well, as it turns out, I was much mistaken to expect a tranquil two days in Battambang, that has as much nightlife as maybe Sterzing or Edingen-Neckarhausen. Anyways, I woke up on Saturday morning to the most horrible music I have ever heard in my life and someone praying constantly in Khmer. First I thought that it would go away, but it didn’t so I finally managed to leave my bed around 11 and made my way to the sunrise café again for breakfast. I found the source of the cacophony when I left the building. Sitting in front of the hotel was a tentish thing with two installed speakers. As the receptionist explained to me, people were apparently celebrating the 100 day death ceremony. Rich Buddhist families do that 100 days after their family member died to honor it one last time. And the ceremony goes on for two days.

At 3 p.m. I was supposed to teach English to a young Khmer girl from office who never showed. Instead Mr. Sam came, who was foreseen as the translator since the girl doesn’t speak English yet. He decided to take me on a tour to the traditional village Wat Kor, where one can see the ancient wooden Khmer houses and tour them as well. People just invite you in when they see you staring from the outside. So we took one of the worst and dustiest roads in Battambang to have a look at the houses. They are all built of wood, some more than 100 years old, they have survived Pol Pots regime of destruction and were handed down from one generation to another.

After visiting what seemed like a million houses we went on to the agricultural village and the fruit farm and then, to my amazement, stopped in front of a vineyard. It is the only one in Cambodia. We tasted the vine, the grapes and some home-grown Mangoes, still green and sour. Then Mr. Sam’s brother called and asked him to come home, so he told me there was a party going on that night, if I wanted to come. Great stuff I thought, nothing HBO has to offer is as great as a party. So off we went on his motorbike, down an even worse road to his brother’s house where I was invited for dinner and met the whole family. In the dark we went flying down the road wearing masks to protect us from the dust to the party which turned out to be one huge religious fair. The opening of a new pagoda is apparently celebrated for 7 days; there are food stalls, rides for the kids, stuff you don’t want but buy nonetheless, incense and other religious articles and millions of people. The all climb up the stairs to the pagoda, which is lined with beggars, to donate money, books or pens to the monks. It’s a spectacle and I was the only European person there, so basically everybody said hello to me, touched me or pinched me. I met three of Mr. Sam’s eight brothers and all their offspring and wives and found out the most interesting things.

One of them works for an NGO that supports girls in rural areas. Tradition has it, that girls are still not as valuable as boys and do not often go to school at all. After all, they shall be good housewives and mothers, not intellectuals. The few that do go to school usually complete only primary school and then start to work for their family. Many of them leave Cambodia at the age of 10 or 12 to go to Thailand to do farm work there but eventually end up as sex workers. So Nick’s NGO which is this year supported by the European Union gives scholarships to girls so that they can attend school, buy textbooks and school uniforms.

The 14 k ride back to the hotel through the darkness was pretty adventurous but we eventually made it and DW-TV provided the perfect lullaby.