Welcome to Phnom Penh - I blame Imbert for this!

Somehow Imbert has talked me into getting on a plane, flying to Phnom Penh, and doing volunteer work for CPI for the next 6 months. As I wander around the city for the first few days, I try to reflect on exactly how he was able to do that. Sure � I take some responsibility. I wanted to do volunteer work. I�ve been to Cambodia a number of times and definitely have an affinity for the people and the country. I�ve been a huge fan of CPI since I was introduced to them a few years earlier, always admiring the work they do. Still, I am not unconvinced that Imbert hasn�t cast some magical spell on me as well.

I meet my new co-worker on my 3rd day here. I use the word co-worker because I don�t really know what else to call him. He is the Executive Director of CVCD, my partner organization, and who I will spend a lot of time with for the next 6 months. At the time, I am unaware of what an amazing person Sarath is or how much I will come to admire him. I just know I need to meet him, and hopefully we will find that we don�t hate working together. Within 10 minutes, and possibly less, he has invited me to spend the following Sunday with his family, visiting his home province. I accept without thinking. This seems like a huge honor and how could I possibly turn it down?

I wake up early Sunday. Sarath said they would probably leave early. I nodded eagerly. Of course, I think, I�m up at like, 7:00am or 8:00am every day, no problem. Sarath says, "Is 6:00am OK?" Note to self: early means early here. When Sarath drives up, the sweetest woman jumps out of the cab to greet me (I soon find out this is his wife), and the pick-up portion of the truck is filled with women of varying ages. I find out later, both his mother and aunt are in the back and spend the duration of the ride there, while I am comfortably seated inside the cab of the truck. (I am still a little haunted by this guilt).

However, I have a pressing concern. I am a caffeine addict. I'm not proud of this. But, I'm a Seattleite. Coffee is what I do. I consider it both a hobby and a pastime. I had intended to slowly ease back, eliminate the addiction in a nice timely sort of fashion, avoiding any undesirable side effects. Except, I didn't. And now, at 6am, there is no coffee. I am spending the day with people who I essentially would like to like me, and in about 4 hours, I am going to have a raging headache. Why did I let Imbert talk me into this?? And just like that - in something I can only describe as serendipity - Sarath's wife asks if I would like coffee. I almost break my neck nodding. It turns out she has a coffee addiction too. I am going to love these people!



The day is great. I cannot believe I even doubted joining on this adventure. Sarath and his wife are two of the sweetest people I have met. They have an infant son who is happy, adorable, and not afraid of blond white strangers. Sarath's uncle, in the cab with me, speaks almost no English - but this doesn't stop us from sharing a few moments pouring over my Lonely Planet book, while he finds an appropriate map to point out where we are going today. The village is a real treat. I have done a fair amount of traveling, and I've wandered through countless villages in Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, and China. But, this is my first time as a guest. I get to see the insides of these houses on stilts that have always intrigued me. I spend some of the day swinging in the hammock underneath. I am served food cooked in a fashion that I can only describe as "not up to US Health Department standards". It is delicious. I have chickens running between my legs, and puppies chasing after them. I witness the process of feeding the pigs that are behind the house. And only for a moment do I wonder about the incubation period for the bird flu.
Throughout the day I hear the word farang more times than the culmination of every previous trip I've taken to Asia. On a rational level I know it means foreigner. But, I'm not convinced they aren't really using it to mean beautiful stranger. That is at least the definition I decide is intended.
By the time I get home that evening, I cannot even believe I could have considered missing this. If their goal was to coerce me into falling in love with this country, then mission accomplished. But, just out of curiosity... does anyone know the actual incubation period for the bird flu?