Today is Royal Ploughing Day.
The ceremony held at the Royal Palace marks the start of the raining season ie rice planting season.
Two of the King’s cows (I wonder how many he has and if he has names for them) are hitched to a wooden plough and then plough around the ceremonial field three times. For their hard yakka, they are then offered selected foods on seven silver trays – rice, corn, beans, sesame seeds, grass, water and rice wine.
Fortune-tellers then predict the outcome of this year’s harvest according to the cows’ appetites. Cereals are good. Water means there will be plenty of rain. Herbs mean disease and the worst can be expected if they drink alcohol.
Today, they ate mostly corn… they King smiled broadly and there was much rejoicing.
Everyone is keen to hear some good news (particularly with current police warnings about dog-nappings supplementing the Khmer diet). But what about Good News?
Friday, May 23, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
zzzz...
insomnia (in-som-ni-a) the art of keeping the mind active and alert throughout the early hours of the morning even when sleep is desperately desired
I don’t mean to brag but I’m quite skilled in this art. In fact, it comes quite easily for me.
Although loaded with natural talent, I’m not quite a master at it yet. I am far too undisciplined to stay awake all night and so employ various techniques to enable sleep.
Forget warm milk and massage (these require too much effort and a potential exchange of services). Lying perfectly still until sleep comes is virtually impossible and pretending to play dead in a movie only sends me off wondering how I died.
No, I prefer to pretend I’m the only person on a fully loaded plane who has a perfectly comfy place to lie down while I watch the nonsensical black and white pictures playing on the inside of my eye-lids. A few (sometimes more than a few) slow deep breaths and I’m gone…
Sounds simple, but the tickets aren't cheap. About 2 hours of mind work (on anything from solving world poverty to working out how to survive motherhood) is required before I am allowed on the plane to Sleep-topia.
I don’t mind really (not much..). I’ve had some of my best ideas while staring at the plastic flouro stars on the ceiling. But don't ask me to name any as my brain is a little hazy at the moment...
Besides, it is a great time to make up whimsical, totally irrelevant blog entries.
I don’t mean to brag but I’m quite skilled in this art. In fact, it comes quite easily for me.
Although loaded with natural talent, I’m not quite a master at it yet. I am far too undisciplined to stay awake all night and so employ various techniques to enable sleep.
Forget warm milk and massage (these require too much effort and a potential exchange of services). Lying perfectly still until sleep comes is virtually impossible and pretending to play dead in a movie only sends me off wondering how I died.
No, I prefer to pretend I’m the only person on a fully loaded plane who has a perfectly comfy place to lie down while I watch the nonsensical black and white pictures playing on the inside of my eye-lids. A few (sometimes more than a few) slow deep breaths and I’m gone…
Sounds simple, but the tickets aren't cheap. About 2 hours of mind work (on anything from solving world poverty to working out how to survive motherhood) is required before I am allowed on the plane to Sleep-topia.
I don’t mind really (not much..). I’ve had some of my best ideas while staring at the plastic flouro stars on the ceiling. But don't ask me to name any as my brain is a little hazy at the moment...
Besides, it is a great time to make up whimsical, totally irrelevant blog entries.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Mirror, mirror...
Every time I write a blog entry, within days, hours and even minutes, I am shown to be a hypocrite. Since writing my blog, I have yelled at fellow motorists (Oct 07), run off to the new shopping mall during a power-cut (Apr 08) and just didn’t take a quiet time for days or weeks (Feb 08).
Slowly, I am discovering that my blog is a kind of mirror. It shows me my true self amongst all my lofty ideals. And it’s often not pretty.
It happened again last week, when I caught yet another labourer from next door’s building site helping himself to our fruit trees.
It’s not that I even like the fruit that he was hoping to snack on (nor can I ever remember its name). I had just had enough of their “pick as you please” activities, particularly from our now-bare mango trees. I had caught a couple of them but my cross words had little effect which made me even madder!
So last week, when I saw a young man jump the fence, I pounced. “What are you doing?”
“Can I pick some fruit?” I was taken aback that he actually asked.
“Um, er. Sure. Just pick me some too.” And I went to get two bags, pleased with my clever plan.
Unfortunately, the tree was almost empty so he dutifully filled my bag (eating a couple in the process) and left it on my wall while his own bag hung empty on a branch.
Realising he was a good kid after all, I raced out and told him to take the bag. He refused and jumped over the wall… in shame and without any fruit.
I was left with a bag of fruit I don’t like and a strange feeling that I had somehow yet again got it all wrong.
It’s not like I didn’t have any warning – lately I have been stuck in Amos with his prophesies against those who oppress the poor and crush the needy. (I particularly like chapter 4 verse 1 where he calls the women “cows”).
It’s just that I’m not so good at listening above my bovine demands for respect of property rights. It seems that I would rather crush the dignity of an under-paid hungry youth than share fruit that is inedible to me. (The societal mindset "it's only wrong if you get caught" meant that it was my actions that made him a thief.)
Again, my handy blog mirror also shows me that while I may be concerned for the poor in the current economic / food crisis, I’m having trouble actually living it. Forgive me, Lord.
Slowly, I am discovering that my blog is a kind of mirror. It shows me my true self amongst all my lofty ideals. And it’s often not pretty.
It happened again last week, when I caught yet another labourer from next door’s building site helping himself to our fruit trees.
It’s not that I even like the fruit that he was hoping to snack on (nor can I ever remember its name). I had just had enough of their “pick as you please” activities, particularly from our now-bare mango trees. I had caught a couple of them but my cross words had little effect which made me even madder!
So last week, when I saw a young man jump the fence, I pounced. “What are you doing?”
“Can I pick some fruit?” I was taken aback that he actually asked.
“Um, er. Sure. Just pick me some too.” And I went to get two bags, pleased with my clever plan.
Unfortunately, the tree was almost empty so he dutifully filled my bag (eating a couple in the process) and left it on my wall while his own bag hung empty on a branch.
Realising he was a good kid after all, I raced out and told him to take the bag. He refused and jumped over the wall… in shame and without any fruit.
I was left with a bag of fruit I don’t like and a strange feeling that I had somehow yet again got it all wrong.
It’s not like I didn’t have any warning – lately I have been stuck in Amos with his prophesies against those who oppress the poor and crush the needy. (I particularly like chapter 4 verse 1 where he calls the women “cows”).
It’s just that I’m not so good at listening above my bovine demands for respect of property rights. It seems that I would rather crush the dignity of an under-paid hungry youth than share fruit that is inedible to me. (The societal mindset "it's only wrong if you get caught" meant that it was my actions that made him a thief.)
Again, my handy blog mirror also shows me that while I may be concerned for the poor in the current economic / food crisis, I’m having trouble actually living it. Forgive me, Lord.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Angels in Disguise - Khmer style
I went to jump on my pushbike the other day to run a quick errand without the kids. But it had been some weeks since I last rode it and the tyres were predictably flat. Fortunately, there is a sop gong (pump tire) place on the side of the road just around the corner.
After pumping my tyres and those of a fellow flat-tyred customer, the young man told me in broken English “Three thousand money khmai” (ie US$0.75).
I smiled. This is the guy who calls out “Hello baby” every time I walk by with Lion Cub on my back. His English is obviously limited or else he would know the double meaning of his friendly greeting.
In this case, he was charging me ten times the proper price. My fellow customer, a young man on a new motorbike, smiled too and gently corrected him. We all laughed.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have the proper money and asked for change. The young man began fumbling with his earnings for the day when my fellow customer gave him an extra note and paid for me.
I was surprised at his unexpected generosity, but graciously accepted his gift with a “may God bless you”.
This is not the first time something like this has happened… Over a year ago, a prostitute chipped in 100 riel to help pay for a coconut I had stopped to buy for my thirsty Princess.
What gets me is that they would give to a perfect stranger richer than themselves. I don’t get it (like most differences between our cultures), but this one, I like.
After pumping my tyres and those of a fellow flat-tyred customer, the young man told me in broken English “Three thousand money khmai” (ie US$0.75).
I smiled. This is the guy who calls out “Hello baby” every time I walk by with Lion Cub on my back. His English is obviously limited or else he would know the double meaning of his friendly greeting.
In this case, he was charging me ten times the proper price. My fellow customer, a young man on a new motorbike, smiled too and gently corrected him. We all laughed.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have the proper money and asked for change. The young man began fumbling with his earnings for the day when my fellow customer gave him an extra note and paid for me.
I was surprised at his unexpected generosity, but graciously accepted his gift with a “may God bless you”.
This is not the first time something like this has happened… Over a year ago, a prostitute chipped in 100 riel to help pay for a coconut I had stopped to buy for my thirsty Princess.
What gets me is that they would give to a perfect stranger richer than themselves. I don’t get it (like most differences between our cultures), but this one, I like.
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