Musings

It was a memory to cherish...going out to order my daughter’s wedding gown. Could it be real? How did she grow up so fast? We ate brunch together chatting about dresses, flowers and cakes. Then we climbed into the van and took off, bumping and splashing down our muddy potholed roads. Rainy season had taken its toll on them this year. We squeezed past our market area, the road jammed with street-side vendors, women carrying their shopping baskets, motorcycles and bicycles. By this time I was clenching the steering wheel and my teeth. Five close calls and we hadn’t even gotten out of our neighborhood yet!

Eventually we safely made our way over to an area of the city with some expert tailors and seamstresses. Many times before I’d had things sewn by seamstresses in the regular market and often it felt like playing Russian Roulette. Sometimes they made just what you ordered, other times, well, you smiled, paid, and put the strange garment into the back of your closet. I did not want to take those chances with my daughter’s wedding dress!

We found two likely-looking shops, side by side. Was it to be the “Elegant Tailor” or the “Diamond Tailor”? We carefully scanned the beautifully dressed mannequins in the shop fronts, hoping they would give a clue to making the right choice. “Mom, let’s try the Elegant Tailor, I like their clothes better,” said Loralie. I agreed with her and parked the van on the crowded street amidst cars, motorcycles and cyclos.

We entered the shop and found an old man with bottle-bottom glasses busy cutting shirt fabric. He looked up, blinking in surprise. He was relieved that we spoke Cambodian, for he did not know any English and in fact, his Cambodian was mixed heavily with Chinese. “Wait, wait,” he said, gesturing for us to sit down. We sat and we waited. There was a flurry of activity as the old many scurried around trying to find someone who could go and find the seamstress.

While waiting we paged through a book of beautiful wedding and formal dresses. The book came from Thailand and we marveled at the lovely dresses that were unique blends of modern and traditional Southeast Asian designs.

After some time, a woman came hurrying into the shop. We had obviously disturbed her mid-day siesta, and she looked rumpled and grumpy. Not a great start, I thought. “Oh please God, let her be a better seamstress than receptionist,” I prayed silently. She and Loralie poured over photographs in the book and Loralie’s own sketches. While the woman remained brusque, she seemed to know her business well. I sighed a huge sigh of relief.

Just then, a very fat boy of about 6 years came into the shop. He was returning from school and wore the standard uniform. To our amusement, he quickly stripped down to his underwear, pulled out a scooter and began whizzing all around the shop, Chinese pigtail flying out behind him. No one even seemed to notice. Loralie and I laughed. “Only in Cambodia Mom!” she giggled, rolling her eyes.

Loralie and the seamstress finally agreed on a design for the dress. It was lovely, simple and classy. And, it was to be made of Cambodian silk. We have been ministering to Cambodian people since Loralie was 1 ½ years old and it has always been a dream of mine to have her gown made of Cambodian silk. Now that dream was about to come true!

I was happy with her choice, but noticed there was no lacework or beading on the dress at all. I encouraged Loralie to make her once-in-a-lifetime dress as special as she wanted, so we looked through the photographs again until she spotted some delicate beadwork in a gorgeous Southeast Asian pattern. “I love this Mom!” she cried. “This is exactly what I want!”

The seamstress frowned, thinking. Uh-oh, I thought. She explained that we would have to use a heavier silk to support the beadwork, and with all that custom beading...it would be much more expensive. “Very expensive,” she repeated several times, almost as if to talk Loralie into changing her mind. I began to worry. Had I encouraged Loralie into choosing something that we couldn’t afford? I hated to let her down.

Keeping a straight face, I paid the down payment, watched as Loralie was measured, and bid the woman goodbye. Once inside the van however, both of us burst into a huge fit of laughter!

“Oh Mom, you can’t even buy a prom dress for that in the States!” Loralie laughed.

Loralie was so happy. Her face was bright with the excitement of ordering her dream wedding dress. Seeing her like this, so pleased and so grown up, made my heart ache with the wonder of it all. I smiled all the way home. The terrible traffic swirling all around us could not even get me flustered.

Hopefully...!

A Cultural Moment - 8/7/03

Day four...

Here's a cultural moment for you. Today we are enduring day FOUR of a neighbor's funeral. The funeral music, professional mourning and monks chanting begins blaring over the PA system at 5:45 am. They turn UP the volume at 6:30 am. This goes on all day and night until 11:00pm. We are working on our fourth full day, and boy am I full!

The monks have begun their chanting again, and it sounds as if they are about to begin the funeral procession to the Wat (Buddhist temple) to cremate the body. Let's hope so. They will probably shoot off fireworks tonight to send off their dearly departed in proper style.

Cambodians celebrate anniversaries of death, and the most important one is 100 days after the person has died, so we get to go through all of this again in just 96 days---whoopee!

Sometimes it's really hard to love your neighbors, isn't it!

An Easter in Cambodia - 4/21/03

How to have fun at the Toeuk Chhou river park:

First of all, it is important that you bring along your own changing room, as there are no bathrooms or shower rooms. Changing rooms are easy to pack, they are simply a "sarong". A sarong is just a length of cotton fabric used as a long skirt. Some people like the wrap-around-and-tie-on version. I prefer the sewed-up-the-side-and-elastic-top version. It stays in place much better. This is important since everyone around you is curious as to what a really white butt looks like.

Put the sarong on over your pants, pulling it up to your waist. Your pants will not slide down easily since you just rode 4 hours in a hot crowded bus and they are stuck with sweat to your skin, so you must reach in and undo your pants, then wriggle, twist and squirm till the pants and undies peel off. No bathing suits here...too immodest. Step into your shorts and pull them up into place under the sarong. Halfway done!

As you prepare for the next, and more difficult phase, you glance around, noticing a dozen or more people watching your every move. Try not to think about it! Now pull the sarong up under your armpits. Carefully pull your shirt out over the sarong, check to make sure your boobs are still covered (white boobs would also be of interest), then pull the shirt up and off of you. Your bra straps will show, but this is perfectly acceptable. Now unhook the bra and take that off as well. Pull your swimming t-shirt on over the sarong, and bravo! You remove the sarong and are completely changed, ready to swim.

The river is a great place to cool off. Find a place as far upstream as you can. The fewer the people upstream from you the better. Remember, there are no bathrooms here. If the water suddenly feels warm, move to another spot. There are also no garbage cans. The positive side of it is that at least the current flows rather quickly.

Don't worry about bringing food along. There are vendors walking up and down the river selling everything from soup to nuts, literally! Grilled chicken, various kinds of fruit, "cakes" wrapped in banana leaves, bottled water, pop, even small packets of shampoo. Jesus would never have been able to perform the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000 here in Cambodia. Anywhere there is a crowd, there are food and snack vendors in abundance!

After several hours of relaxing and playing in the water, it is time to go home. To reverse the changing process is even more tricky, as you are now pulling off sopping wet, clingy clothing. The only other difference is in putting your bra back on. You must put it on right over the sarong, then put your shirt on over it before pulling away the sarong. Why this is acceptable in mixed/public company, and not a bathing suit top, I will never understand. Cambodian women prefer the heavy-on-the-latex-foam-padding type of bras, so it really looks funny over a sarong! The Asian version of the German opera singer in her iron bra?

At last you are dressed, and your sturdy elastic top sarong has served you well. The question of how white is her butt? will remain a mystery for at least another day. Hike up the steep bank to the parking area. Reluctantly climb on to the hot bus and crowd 40 people into 24 seats, and head for home.

Happy Resurrection Day!!

Weekend Outing - 4/7/03

I had an interesting weekend. Because of some difficulties we are facing here, Dale decided that he could not go to Siem Reap for a wedding. He asked if I would go instead. Sure! Why not?!

First, I had to go to the "bane lahn" to find a taxi. Taxis are just cars that run between two cities. I wanted one with a good air-con, and hopefully a good driver. (One that drives well AND uses deodorant would be considered a bonus.) When I got out of our car, I found myself in a pack of men, all trying to grab my stuff to get me into their taxi. I found one that looked pretty good, and the driver assured me he was leaving immediately. I bought both spots on the front seat. It was a normal one-person seat, but the Cambodians consider it enough space for two. The back seat is considered four spots. Remember, these are just small Camry's! The front seat also gives me direct access to the air-con. 35 minutes later we leave. I am pretty mad, but decide not to start out a six hour trip with a bad attitude.

Good thing too, because the day digresses from there.

How do I describe it so that you can have a sense of what it was like? Imagine riding in a car with the steering wheel on the right side. Now this works in countries like England, because they also drive on the left side of the road. Here, we drive on the right side, so the driver of my taxi is way over on the right side. Can you picture what it is like for him to pass a car? He has to edge waaaay over in order to be able to see around the vehicle ahead of him.

Since I am riding in the front seat of the car, I also get the added benefit of the best view of all of our near misses. Besides almost hitting cars, bikes and motorcycles, we nearly creamed a 5 year old girl, three cows (two of which had to be nudged off of the road with the front bumper), dozens of dogs, a few chickens, and a very large, very pregnant water buffalo. We did actually hit a pig. It lived, twirling from the impact and ran off to torment taxi drivers another day.

Just outside of Phnom Penh, we stopped for gas. I don't understand the logic of this at all. About 15 minutes later we stopped again, this time to fill a tire with air. Big sigh! Then finally, we are underway and zipping along! When we reached the town of Skoun, one hour out of Phnom Penh, we stop for a potty break and food. Nothing makes sense, but you have to just grin and bear it. Skoun is famous for its grilled tarantulas. I decide not to eat any this time. Who wants spiders bouncing around in their bellies for the next five hours?

The road to Siem Reap is pretty good for about 10 minutes out of Skoun. Then, suddenly it disappears and turns into some kind of dirt bike course. Hour after hour of teeth shaking, bone crunching, bouncing and bumping, flimsy piecemeal bridges, and choking clouds of red dust.

Taxi drivers take one of two approaches. Either they drive very fast and "skim" along the top of the craters with short, jouncy bumps, or they drive slower dropping and bouncing through each one. My driver took the latter approach. In fact, he was the slowest taxi driver I have ever seen. The normally six hour trip turned into seven.

Just when I thought I couldn't stand it anymore, we hit a repaired spot in the road. Not paved, but smooth graded gravel. Ahh, relief! We flew along at 60 miles an hour and suddenly life was worth living again. The air-con was cold, the five bodies crammed into the back were sleeping quietly, all was well. This lasted for exactly 13 minutes...I clocked it. At least it gave me new hope and encouragement to go on!

And go on, we do...hour after hour. Then, the driver leans over and tells me that he is sleepy. I looked at the clock, oh great, at least two hours left to go. Now I am really on edge watching his head bob around, wondering if he could truly fall asleep while driving. I attempted some small talk, gave him a piece of gum, said a prayer, then left it up to the Lord. I just couldn't deal with that much stress!

Since we were traveling in a northwest direction, I had a wonderful view of the sunset, the sun nested on a cloud, looking just like what a women's egg must look like as it waits in her womb. Then suddenly it's gone, and the sky is streaked with purple, making a perfect backdrop for the black silhouettes of the sugar palm trees.

It gets dark very quickly here, and there are no lights for the road. I wondered why the on-coming traffic wasn't turning on their headlights, and then I realized our driver hadn't turned his on either. Again, I fail to see the logic, especially with the condition of the road.

When we finally reached Siem Reap, I was physically exhausted. My boobs were exhausted too, as they "danced" almost the entire trip. Seriously, the road should have a warning sign telling women to wear sports bras for the journey. (Or sell duct tape to them...) I arrived at our friend Myrna's house unable to do anything but shower and drop into bed.

The wedding was to start at 7 am. When I awoke at 6:30, it was already blazing hot. I hurried into my slip and dress, grateful that no one would be expecting nylons. I didn't bother with make-up since I was already sweating from the exertion of getting dressed. I rode on a motorcycle over to the wedding...yes, in a dress. We ladies ride side-saddle here, and I'm sure I looked very elegant, all dressed up and perched on the back of a motorcycle.

I arrived just in time to greet the groom (a boy-now-man that grew up in our orphanage) and get in the procession for the "bride price". We all carried fancy platters bearing numerous kinds of fruits, and cookies. The groom headed the procession with his best men, three of them, holding two fancy umbrellas over his head. We walked to the church with gongs, a drum, and a violin-like instrument accompanying us.

After the formalities of the bride price, we all sat down to eat steaming bowls of rice porridge with "stuff" in it. By now it was nearly 100 degrees, and the last thing I felt like doing was eating anything hot. Rice porridge is easy to eat, even with mystery items floating in it. If you don't want to chew, you don't have to. Just swallow and whatever was in that spoonful will slide right down your throat with the slippery rice porridge.

The wedding ceremony lasted for about two hours after that. It was an interesting mix of Khmer traditional and American Christian cultures. There was no kissing...what a bummer!

After that, we went back outside to eat "the big wedding meal". It was an eight course affair with mostly nasty food. But, out of eight courses, I did manage to find some good stuff to eat. I stayed away from the chicken foot skins, spicy green papaya salad, and squid delight and concentrated on the crab soup, grilled chicken, and fried rice.

After the wedding, Myrna and I went to her house and collapsed. The temperature was 104 degrees, and showed no signs of letting up. We decided to lay on her floor (the tiles are cooler) and watch the war. What a weird thing to say...watch the war.

That night I took a shower before bed and realized as I was using the toilet, that I had not gone to the bathroom since 6:30 that morning. I literally sweated off all my excess fluids, despite having consumed at least three cans of pop and numerous large glasses of water.

This morning I had the privilege of worshipping with the church in Siem Reap. I was also invited back to do a family and children's seminar in June. That was unexpected, and is kind of exciting. They plan to bring in people from their four village churches also.

After treating me to lunch, our dear friend Chhay took me to the "bane lahn" to catch a taxi back to Phnom Penh. I really dreaded the ride back, but couldn't afford to fly, so, I decided to once again grin and bear it.

The car smelled like overripe fruit and dried fish. The driver looked greasy. I said a prayer and jumped in. We left about 30 seconds later. The driver stopped very, very briefly twice. He was a great driver, and the steering wheel was where it was supposed to be. We made it to Phnom Penh in 5 hours. It turns out that the driver lives just a few blocks from my house, so he dropped me off at my gate. Thank you Lord!

And that was my weekend.