Return to Phnom Penh

Another bus ride today.  This one started out quite joyous with the children singing songs and putting barrettes and ribbons in Mike’s hair but ended up with frequent stops to throw up and quiet hurting stomachs.  Some of them get car sick and get medicated before a journey – you can tell they are the quiet ones that sleep most of the time. Others just get sick from something they ate.  They are amazingly good even when sick and just curl up in a corner of their seat or use their barf bag without being noticed. I was kind of worried about them and someone else was too because we made a stop at a roadside market for some ginger. I’m not sure it was the best thing to do because they were also selling fried crickets there and a couple bags of those got brought back on the bus too – several of us had new reasons to feel a little queasy.

The four hour ride from Battambang to Phnom Penh seemed more like eight hours – oh, wait, it was eight hours, or maybe six. I think no one here really knows how long it takes to get from one place to the other because they aren’t timing it, and there is nothing they can do to make it longer or shorter than it is, so who cares?

picnic in the field



also present at picnic



Lunch was interesting.  I was prepared for picnic because we had stopped at the market earlier for ginger, and I was prepared for eating on the side of the road because we had done that on the way to Siem Reap. But I was a little surprised when we stopped by a big Buddhist pagoda and got out on a really trashy roadside with nowhere clean to spread the mats.  As the plan unfolded we all crossed the road into a small field that wasn’t fenced, water buffalo grazing on the perimeter and spread the mats out under some shade trees.  Much better, except for the cow pies (as I write… why are there ants crawling out of my computer keyboard?).  The owner of the field kind of looked on as forty plus people camped out on his property for an hour, and then we finished and I know you want to assume we left the place better than when we came but the truth is, we threw the big bag of trash in his ditch and left. True, it had a lot of trash in it already but it still pained me to see it done.  There is a definite cultural difference in the way trash is viewed.  I asked the orphanage parents what they did with trash and they also just put it in a corner of the yard and burn it once or twice a year…. Hmmm….

So the long bus ride ended, but not until we had stopped again to wash the bus.  Seems that there is a law against having a dirty bus in the city and the police can stop and fine the driver. Is this not paradoxical? We arrived at Samaritan house and were much pleased to rest and cool off in our nice aircorned rooms.  Yes, that is not a typo.  They call it air corn.  I don’t know why.  We also had a nice supper prepared for us by Pastor Naarin’s wife Quenie.  The courtyard at Samaritan house is beautiful with plants everywhere and tables and colored lights in the trees.  That’s where I’m sitting this morning as I write.