Continuation and end of the weekend.
Changing family. Change of atmosphere, too.
Just down from where my bus Koksen sang loudly to complete Chouchou and induce vomiting Pikdey a second time, I barely have time to do three jokes to motor dops Kampot asking me if I do not want a "Sangsa" (boyfriend) Khmer, I am in the horn back. It Irad and Anthony, who just arrived in Kampot.
Irad and Antoine are MEP. I have already spoken of IRAD, the Algerian doctor, a little on the edges Communist (Marxist and Maoist that if you want my opinion), which finds its way between Catholicism and Orthodoxy, and patients with visceral hate come to him saying, "Doctor, give me drugs."
I often travel with him, because his tour is pretty modo à mes programmes, dans le sud du Cambodge. Quant à Antoine, il est le responsable d'une ferme-école qu'il qualifie de "gouffre financier", il a a peu près un accident par mois en moto (hier il n'a pas réussi à éviter un type ivre mort, et ça s'est soldé par quelques points de soutures pour lui et un ejambe cassé pour l'ivrogne), il désespère de voir l'argent disparaître de la caisse, mais comprend vite où l'argent est passé quand un de ses employés s'achète une belle grosse voiture 2 jours plus tard...
Bref, je saute dans le 4x4 poubelle de Docteur Irad, et nous décidons d'aller visiter les marais salants de Kampot avant la tombée de la nuit.
Saltmarsh, I tell you, it will Coquillard buffers the femur with a crustacean, and it happens to your description of 12 lines that are going to jump anyway. Okay, okay, but you are wrong, for Kampot is famous for its pepper and its salt. And these marshes, well they are beautiful.
The problem is not salt marshes. is the MEP. The MEP is still part of the male sex behavior in the post chivalrous, kind, it is courteous, we invite you to dinner and can not let you do anything, we notice when you have new earrings and we admire the quality of your work. But this quality a bit outdated also has its drawbacks if Cajigal have two left hands instead of the brain. When Antoine holds out his hand for me to cross a ditch full of mud gray, it's really nice, but I'm saying I'm going to drop my tongue, it persists, and we are forced to rummage a half hour the feet and hands in the mud in search of my tongue that will never return. Antony and Irad are then died laughing. Gone chivalry.
They take pleasure in seeing me feel the old tire and dead fish. Finally I go back bare foot, but frankly, Cambodia, shoes, as I said before, sometimes it superflux.
The end of day battle ends in mud and rescue a motorcyclist who got suddenly collapsed in a puddle of mud (really). Back in town we do a test sociological barangues of barefoot, filthy, and hysterical, it fits easily into any bar.
The next day, I resume my tour programs with Irad. We made the obligatory stop at Phnom Voi. This is where there is a village with AIDS created by the father "I-don't-reveal-not-his-identity-because-that-that-don 't-is-not-the-sentence" where Irad waived to raise awareness to the hygiene since its claims to repair toilets, are deliberately ignored by the father, his manager, while three quarters of the cases he treats are actually over-infected wounds because of the 10 health exsécrable glauquissime families grouped in this no man's land. For these families, there are no plans to occupy them and give meaning to their survival and no future for children past kindergarten.
Morality, la visite d'Irad se borne globalement à traiter les quelques cas de bobos devenus purulents qu'on lui présente et à distribuer des préservatifs dans toutes les familles, car selon lui, à part "ça", il n'y a rien à faire.
Le comble du glauque c'est que sur les dix familles, il y en a même une où les parents n'ont pas le SIDA, mais ils ont falsifié leurs dossier médical pour bénéficier d'une maison gratuite. Certes, le père est borgne visiblement alcoolique et addict au jeu, alors bien sûr, si on conçoit l'aide humanitaire comme un guetto ambiance cour des miracles, le Phnom Voi, c'est sans conteste une réussite.
Bref, le projet du Phnom Voi leaves me really doubtful. And I definitely do not understand that buses Singaporeans drain floods of teenagers dressed in uniform shirt printed with red firecrackers cutesy messages like "love everybody", and matching hats, with their punk haircuts and glasses square coming to paint giant flowers on the houses.
Flowers of influence "Smurf", after all why not. But frankly, that's not what will push these families to wash their hands after the break shit.
When I ask why flowers Irad hygiene are paramount, he replied with his usual sarcastic smile: "This is because during the Tour Olivier (oops, that's it I named it), small widows miliardaires see Singaporean homes, kindergarten, flowers on the walls and they all think" Wow! What magnificent project "and then they make a large donation. In general, small widows miliardaires Singapore do not think looking at how are the toilets which are 50 meters away."
In any case, I can tell you one thing that the 10 families, AIDS or not, they seem to really care a lot of flowers on the walls, as their health, however.
After Phnom Voi, our small tour usually stops à Kirivong, fief du Loak tah fort sympathique, mais toujours d'une nonchalence à pleurer. Irad perd patience sur le 3/4 des "ming" (les femmes de 35-50 ans) parce qu'elles réclament les médocs sans dire bonjour, il disparaît avec deux trois pépés derrière la porte de la maison du Loak tah pendant que j'essaye de lui expliquer comment faire un bilan comptable, et passe parfois la tête à l'extérieur, mort de rire, pendant que papi sort, pour me glisser une petite info du genre "pour les problèmes gastriques, ça va de l'examen buccal à l'examen anal. c'est un vrai bonheur"... j'avais oublié à quel point voyager avec un médecin pouvait faire basculer toutes nos conversations in scathologique.
I'll spare you his stories of the worst medical experiences in Cambodia, but I'm still do not surrender. The Tah Loak finally understands what I want for the account, even if I'm good to help step by step for another 3 months ... It is time to leave.
Leaving Kirivong, Irad and dropped me on the edge of the road at an intersection, under a giant billboard to the glory of the Khmer government, as there are everywhere in Cambodia. Not that I have not been good in the car, but it's just that it restarts in Phnom Penh while I go down again a few miles south management program my baby DYCFE.
I associate this intersection, or rather this fork on my arrival in Cambodia.
(yes, it's time sequence emotion necessary to make the ratings, you know)
When I arrived, and Alice, (the volunteer who held my position before) led me to Kirivong for the first time, we stopped at the fork to change Touri Lan. At the time, she apologized to me to make my first trip with the means of transport the most rotten of Cambodia. since I became a regular, and I tested travel sitting on a bag of rice hanging in the void at the back of a pick up so I can not blame him.
It had therefore decided to await the passage of another lan turn, on the fork with its market campaign. It was hot, there was almost no passing on the road and everyone on this crossroads we watched, laughing. After 20 minutes left kicking his heels in full dodger, a small fruit market we were pushed under a beach umbrella and chairs stretched. I asked Alice, "you never had the anguish of finding you in the middle of nowhere and feel trapped you there? Because there myself, in fact I just that feeling. "She laughed softly, as always Alice and I had said no. This anxiety had deserted.
short, it's always exciting to go through the fork meets the sweet name Russey Srok, much more than walk it alone, to wait for a lan or motodop turn, receiving in the meantime, the braces of old bourrachos passing. And I am pleased that now, no place in Cambodia does this would give me more anxiety.
DYCFE A whole team waiting for me with joy: they have a surprise.
Good thing too. Since I left Phnom Penh ue with my student bus , I dragged a big bag of books I bought at the association SIPAR (an assoc that prints children's books in Khmer to promote reading). This is my gift to the center.
They're cute, they all followed my advice from A to Z:
redevelopment of local
design their wallets that they want to sell in shops fair trade handicraft,
monitoring school weekly private lesson for 4 godchildren who can not read despite their theoretical level grade 5!
and not content to be already a perfect program, they propose to their floor on lesprochains designer uniforms for referrals they sew their logo EDM and cheaper to program while working the good old quinqagénaire that uses an iron the last century to the folds of the bags Hand of assoc (... efficient guaranteed)
brief. I'm super excited, super impressed, and also a little embarrassed to see my good advice to believe with such fervor. Sat
tells me so they want to take me to walk on the mountain.
In fact, during my last visit, I had left to walk alone ... yes, I am sometimes bucolic mood, and was part alone with the giant umbrella Pouh 'to reach a mountain that gave me the eye but like all people wanted to take me home, my ride had turned to the tour of homes in the town until the Pouh 'call me mad because night was falling.
brief. Sam and the whole team wanted to take me on that mountain that I had finally seen it.
They are excited at the thought of me this pleasure, and I frankly I'm overwhelmed by their kindness.
We go to Moto, then we begin our ascent. Back in the valley, shows me Pouh tree nuts, cashews, and begins to scoop up small leaves that grow close to the ground (the kind of plant that, frankly, even with the nose above a Westerner would do well not), explaining that c is a great drug and a super dessert too (but in fact it is a dessert yucky, it must be said ... unless you are followers of the jelly rape throat, grassy taste sweetish, faintly minty, and surrounded by a slimy juice).
good very good. it picks up the lamp leaves. The Pouh 'tells me to pull them out with very white rod into the ground, not to take leaves too old (slightly darker than the others), and introduced me to other specimens of flowers that are edible. Di Long instead opts for picking mushrooms. and Sam insists on taking souvenir photos.
A little more and do a remake of Little House on the Prairie, Khmer Rouge atmosphere anyway because if the Khmer versed in plants, because they have long no other solutions to eat or treat ...
In return, we met a farmer who, hearing that I come from Paris, explained that he has a brother in law who lives there (I love: his sister, he would bat an eye, but his step brother, he does not forget).
I could not care, but actually I am entrusted with a mission:
the evening after dinner, we found the old farmer to DYCFE with two old postcards from Paris written by his redneck in 1994. At the time the old farmer still living in Phnom Penh and the letters he received he would seek the post. But since he lives in his mountain, where he keeps cows in the middle of cashew nut trees, it has more news. I would ask to find his brother, then me, I want to keep my promise a little crazy and I do it:
DSL WELL, DRIVE
old farmer from the mountain called Chann Sarith. at the time his brother-wrote an address to Phnom Penh:
Chhea CHHAY
HOUSE No. 48, Road 242, group 43
CHATOMUK Khan Don Penh section
his step-brother's name PODINARETH KIM (at least in the directory if there is one, it is likely that it is theirs ...)
address was there 14 years ago:
60 Bd Montparnasse.
75015 Paris
here. so if this gentleman as I have no doubt is a big fan of this blog to international fame, he is alarmed not: the old man of the mountain is very happy to live das this new area, he thinks well of him and I can put them back in touch with DYCFE ...
it is not life grand?
