Amazing Facts about Japan…

Still mildly jet-lagged and otherwise distracted, I came across this list of “amazing facts about Japan” from Sushobhan Dhar at Quora. So to kill a few minutes between Japanese bureaucratic machinations, I thought I’d respond with my own insights (italics)…Featured image

1. Raw horse meat is a popular food in Japan.
Actually, it’s a tradition confined primarily to the southern part of the country. Horse is served, both as raw “sashimi,” and as thin steaks in much of Kyushu, usually at specialty restaurants. The meat is considered very high quality, and far superior to beef steak in terms of taste and tenderness.

2. Sometimes the trains are so crowded railway staff are employed to cram passengers inside.
This is really only a characteristic of urban commuter trains during morning rush hours. There is a posture technique for a commuter to request a push, which is backing against the crowd at the door while placing hands up behind the top of the door frame, and placing one heel onto the threshold. A white gloved pusher will give a careful but firm push against the lower ribs.

3. Many couples in Japan celebrate Christmas like Valentine’s Day. It is definitely more of a “lovers” holiday in Japan.
I don’t know about this one. Christmas in Japan is an entirely commercialized holiday. Since most businesses shut down during the New Year, it’s mostly a convenient time to shop for gifts for bosses, friends and relatives. As for lovers, “love hotels” are a common sight in some parts of Tokyo as privacy can be a rare commodity in a place with such a crowded population.

4. Poorly written English can be found everywhere, including T-shirts and other fashion items.
Unfortunately, this is true. Wearing clothing with English phrases has been trendy for quite some time. And much like Americans who get kanji tattoos without really knowing their meanings, some of what is written on shirts ranges from embarrassing to downright offensive. For some reason, the word “f…ck” became popular for a couple of years, though its usage was often completely incoherent.

5. More than 70% of Japan consists of mountains, including more than 200 volcanoes.
Despite having a population of about half that of the United States crammed into an area the size of the state of California, Japan remains a magnificently beautiful country. And much of this is due to the fact that a large percentage of the country is rugged and not easily accessible. An interesting side note is that in order for Japan’s high-speed train network to efficiently cross the country, many routes simply tunnel straight through entire mountains.

6. Mt. Fuji, the tallest mountain in Japan, is an active volcano (although scientists have not reached a consensus on what defines “active”).
Mount Fuji, or “Fuji-san,” last erupted on December 16, 1707. The eruption occurred shortly after an 8.7 earthquake that severely damaged the city of Osaka. Scientists believe that the earthquake compressed the magma chamber below the volcano, forcing lava to the surface. The eruption spread ash as far as Edo (modern day Tokyo).

7. Religion does not play a big role in the lives of most Japanese and many do not understand the difference between Shintoism and Buddhism. However, there are also many Japanese who do understand the difference.
The saying goes that the Japanese are “born Shinto, married Christian, and die Buddhist.” In Japan, religion is approached mostly as a functional matter, with ceremonies revolving around whatever tradition is seen as most aesthetically appealing. Consequently, despite its many beautiful temples and shrines (and both real and fake Christian churches), Japan hosts an overtly secular culture. Only about 5% of the population consider themselves to have religious beliefs in the Western sense of following a faith. And overt displays of religious beliefs of any kind, while tolerated, are generally perceived as socially dysfunctional. Of course, however, an accurate accounting of the matter is far more complex than could be encapsulated in a single paragraph.

8. A nice musk melon, similar to a cantaloupe, may sell for over $300US. For example, a nice specimen of Yubari melon. These are often physically perfect, not like their American counterparts with dark smudges and scars.
Japanese culture places a high value on “perfection,” especially with regard to gifts. And foods hold a high cultural value in Japan. Most of the time, these types of items are given as special gifts, often associated with business. However, passing an orchard where the farmer has carefully placed bags over each developing fruit on a tree, it becomes apparent that the care taken in Japanese food production has no counterpart in the US.

9. There are four different writing systems in Japan; Romaji, Katakana, Hiragana, and Kanji.
“Romaji” are actually Western characters (English “alphabet”) used to represent the sounds of Japanese to Westerners. They are very difficult for Japanese to read with comprehension. “Katakana” are Japanese characters used to represent onomatopoeia, foreign loan-words, and foreign names. “Hiragana” are Japanese phonetic characters used to represent grammatical markers and some Japanese words. And “kanji” are logographic characters, usually based on Chinese characters, which are used to represent most nouns, verbs, and concepts. Typically, Japanese writing will contain a mix of katakana, hiragana, and kanji together.

10. Coffee is very popular and Japan imports approximately 85% of Jamaica’s annual coffee production.
I had no idea, although Starbuck’s has done well in Japan. Regardless, up until a few years ago, I had to request that the barista look in the back for an Amerika-no-gaijin sized cup. For a long time, the biggest thing they kept out front was a “grande.”

11. Japan’s literacy rate is almost 100%.
“Literacy” in Japan is defined as a complete knowledge of all 220-or-so various katakana and hiragana markers (usually accomplished by the start of 2nd grade), and mastery of about 2,000 kanji and their most commonly-used associated combinations. Most native Japanese who don’t don’t qualify as literate have precluding disabilities. I, however, cannot appeal to that excuse.

12. Sumo is Japan’s national sport, although baseball is also very popular.
Lately, baseball seems to have lost some of its appeal, while sumo has regained a bit of the luster it lost from a rigging and gambling scandal a few years back. And popularity can vary regionally.

13. Sumo wrestlers eat a stew called Chankonabe to fatten up. Many restaurants in the Ryogoku district of Tokyo serve this nabe (Japanese word for stew).
Not that I would necessarily consider it to be “cuisine,” but there are restaurants that prepare sumo-style food.

14. Most toilets in Japan have a built-in bidet system for spraying your backside. These are known as washlets and are now the norm in homes and nicer restrooms. However, in some train stations and other public restrooms you may still find the traditional Japanese “floor toilet”.
In just the last few years, there seems to have been a move to install more washlets, or at least Western-style toilets in public spaces. However, even in many nicer public spaces, such as airports and Shinkansen stations, there remain many Asian-style “squat” toilets. Some people still prefer their use, as there is no need to touch anything that might be considered unsanitary.

15. When you use the restroom in someone’s home you may need to put on designated bathroom slippers so as not to contaminate the rest of the home.
Yes… And the slippers should NEVER be worn outside of the toilet area. Doing so is a major faux pas.

16. Noodles, especially soba (buckwheat), are slurped somewhat loudly when eaten. It has been said slurping indicates the food is delicious. The slurping also serves to cool down the hot noodles for eating.
Eating can be a gloriously noisy activity in Japan.

17. Japan is the world’s largest consumer of Amazon rain forest timber.
Observe the massive timbers being used in typical Japanese post-and-beam house construction, and you will understand why. Using similar timbers in the US would result in a house that no one would be able to afford.

18. Vending machines in Japan sell beer, hot and cold canned coffee, cigarettes, and other items.
High-tech vending machines in Japan are a national icon. Most will accept payment by “RFID” chip, (radio chips embedded in Japanese credit and rail-pass cards), as well as from cell phones (which can be charged with cash in Japan). Beer and cigarette machines generally shut down late at night.

19. When moving into an apartment it is often required to give the landlord “gift” money, usually equal to two months’ rent.
Having never directly rented in Japan, I’m not entirely familiar with the practice. However, I can say that buying a place to live also entails monetary “gifts” to realtors, brokers, construction companies, and others. Amounts vary, but there are some informal guidelines, something along the line of calculating an appropriate “tip” in the US. However, this isn’t a practice that can be ignored if one doesn’t wish to encounter some difficulties along the way.

20. On average there are around 1,500 earthquakes every year in Japan.
That’s all? In Japan, earthquakes are monitored like weather. Reports are continuously updated through a national system that can be accessed on the Internet at: http://www.jma.go.jp/en/quake/ . Shaking can even be predicted before it reaches areas away from an epicenter, as with the automated Shinkansen stop system which activates any time an earthquake could cause a derailment.

21. In Japan it is not uncommon to eat rice at every meal, including breakfast.
Rice is the staple food for two-thirds of the world’s population, and is commonly eaten at every meal throughout many parts of Asia.

22. Average life expectancy in Japan is one of the highest in the world. Japanese people live an average of 4 years longer than Americans.
Despite the population’s high rate of liquor and fatty-food consumption, Japan’s highest life expectancy is concentrated in Okinawa. Spend any time there, and you’ll understand why.

23. Japan is the largest automobile producer in the world.
What I find more interesting is that the “Toyota president delivers highest returns for lowest pay.

24. The Japanese language has thousands of foreign loan words, known as gairaigo. These words are often truncated, e.g. personal computer = paso kon. The number of foreign loan words is steadily increasing.
These are the kinds of words that are written in katakana.

25. Tsukiji market in Tokyo is the world’s largest fish market.
It’s actually about to be moved in order to make space for developments associated with the 2020 Olympics. By March of 2016, it will be relocated about a mile-and-a-half away to the Toyosu area. The new facility is planned to be twice as large, more modern, and to have better transportation access.

26. Although whaling is banned by the IWC, Japan still hunts whales under the premise of research. The harvested whale meat ends up in restaurants and supermarkets.
While expensive, whale meat is available throughout Japan.

27. Men might shave their heads to apologize. Not common these days.
Never seen that done, but I’ve observed a few missing little fingers (really).

28. Women might cut their hair after breaking up with a boyfriend. Again, not common these days.
Never seen that done either. Usually, the women I know just get a new boyfriend — or not.

29. The first novel, The Tale of Genji, was written in 1007 by a Japanese noble woman, Murasaki Shikibu.
The name was probably a pseudonym as Japanese women of the time were forbidden learning Chinese, the characters of which were used as the script for writing the sounds of the Japanese language. Some scholars believe that the novel’s writer was actually Fujiwara Takako, who was an imperial lady-in-waiting. A later work, “The Diary of Lady Murasaki,” probably documents her own life.

30. The term karaoke means “empty orchestra” in Japanese.
I don’t ordinarily sing — which is a serious social disability in Japan. However, this also excuses much social drinking.

31. In a Sumo training “stable” the junior rikishi Sumo wrestlers must wash and bathe their senior sumo wrestlers and make sure their hard to reach places are clean.
This might actually qualify as more than even I want to know.

32. Contrary to popular belief, whale meat is not a delicacy in Japan. Many Japanese dislike the taste and older Japanese may be reminded of the post-World War II period when whale meat was one of the few economical sources of protein.
I have take issue with this one… While it was the traditional “bacon” of post (and pre) WWII, whale meat is now actually quite expensive, reflecting both a low supply as well as a high demand. Most whale meat in markets today is canned raw, and is of a quality that can be eaten as sashimi (uncooked). It is considered very desirable and good-tasting meat, and is usually served for special occasions.

33. Rampant inbreeding of dogs has resulted in one of the highest rate of genetic defects in the world for canines.
Dogs have something of a revered status in Japan, but few people have the space in which to keep them. Consequently, several very small breeds have become popular, especially among older women without children. I suspect that it’s these breeds that are having the most genetic defects.

34. Raised floors help indicate when to take off shoes or slippers. At the entrance to a home in Japan, the floor will usually be raised about 6 inches indicating you should take off your shoes and put on slippers. If the house has a tatami mat room its floor may be rasied 1-2 inches indicating you should to take off your slippers.
In Japan, shoes are traditionally outdoor wear and left near an entrance location. There is actually an etiquette to the way in which shoes are arranged in formal situations, and slippers may be used indoors. Many restaurants, hotels, “ryokans” (traditional travelers’ inns), as well as temples and shrines, castles and museums may also require that shoes be removed before entry.

35. Ramen noodles are a popular food in Japan and it is widely believed extensive training is required to make a delicious soup broth. This is the subject of the movies Tampopo (1985) and The Ramen Girl (2008).
While most Americans probably wouldn’t notice the difference, good noodles are an art appreciated throughout much of Asia.

36. On average, it takes about 7-10 years of intensive training to become a fugu (blowfish) chef. This training may not be needed in the future as some fish farms in Japan are producing non-poisonous fugu.
I didn’t know about the non-poisonous fugu, but it seems to me that would defeat the whole purpose of eating them. A good (Japanese) fugu chef leaves just enough of the poisonous tissues to give the diner a bit of an experience.

37. Ovens are not nearly as commonplace as rice cookers in Japanese households.
Considering space limitations in a typical Japanese kitchen, this makes more sense than one might think. However, Americans might be surprised by the $300+, computerized rice-cookers found on some Japanese countertops.

38. Geisha means “person of the arts” and the first geisha were actually men.
You can read about this in my own article about “Oiran” culture.

39. It was customary in ancient Japan for women to blacken their teeth with dye as white teeth were considered ugly. This practice persisted until the late 1800’s. The American style smile (big, wide, and white) would have been seen as “exposing too much bone”.
Teeth blackening is still practiced among some maiko initiates, however it’s rarely seen in public. Women, however, may still be discouraged from big, toothy smiles.

40. In addition to a “boneless smile”, small eyes, a round puffy face, and plump body were considered attractive features, especially during the Heian period.
Slightly before my time.

41. Some Japanese companies conduct a morning exercise session for the workers to prepare them for the day’s work.
This is a continuation of a customary team-building practice that starts in Japanese pre-schools.

42. In Japan non-smoking areas are difficult to find in restaurants, including family restaurants. Many of Japan’s politicians have interest in the tobacco industry and anti-smoking laws are almost non-existent. If you are planning a trip to Japan you may want to think twice if you are sensitive to tobacco smoke.
Gradually, this is changing. Japan is beginning to realize the social costs of smoking, and it’s recently become illegal to smoke on public sidewalks in Tokyo where the crowded conditions have resulted in burn injuries, most notably to children. Some family parks, such as Disneyland, have now restricted smoking to specific areas within the park.

43. Many companies hire people to hand out small packages of tissues which include a small advertisement flyer. Some non-Japanese are surprised when they are handed a free package of tissues.
Take them… you’ll appreciate having them when you find out how few public restrooms have paper.

One Last Run

Looking at the exposed rocks along the shoreline here, no one needs to tell me that we’re in the middle of a serious drought. The lake is the lowest I’ve seen it since moving here a decade ago. Yesterday, the state park service announced that the boat ramp at the local public beach a few miles south of town will be closed this summer since it no longer reaches the edge of the water. Perhaps perversely, however, I’m looking forward to a summer on my sea kayak not having to share the lake with jet skis and power boats.

This place is in the eastern Sierra Nevada rain-shadow, along the western edge of the Great Basin. It’s a desert climate, which means that most of the average precipitation for many years may come all at once. Consequently, the weather can vary drastically from year to year — or sometimes from hour to hour. A local saying is that if you don’t like the weather, come back in ten-minutes. And it’s not necessarily a joke.

I recall once paddling a kayak south along the shoreline on a warm spring afternoon, and having to ditch it on a beach half-way back home because a sudden storm rolling over the Sierras had me busting whitecaps. In the early 90’s, after years of severe drought, people who know far more than myself on such topics stated that it would take at least 20-years of big winters to bring the lake back up to its natural rim. Two years later, it overflowed the top of the reservoir dam, 6-feet above the lake’s natural rim, flooding towns and cities downstream. Sometimes it seems that one moment’s weather here has no tangible connection to the next.

So… it’s been a dry winter. Local ski resorts that sometimes stay open into May closed at the end of March this year. And an old pair of beat up “rock skis” were the local l’équipement de la journée for most of this winter due to the sketchy ground cover.  Nevertheless, there was some good local skiing to be had — if you didn’t mind a little hiking. And unlike the snowpack left by last year’s early-season “bomber” storms, this year’s snows rarely threatened to send backcountry travelers mortally down-slope with an avalanche.

Ruta_Closed_Resort_WPBut considering the area’s predictably unpredictable weather patterns, it wasn’t much of a surprise that the recent warm spell didn’t preclude last Tuesday’s brief memory of winter. Snowing lightly all night and into the morning, sunrise greeted the town beneath a dusting of powdered-sugar snow. So accepting nature’s invitation to don climbing skins and write our own lift-tickets, we made one last sunny-afternoon run through a foot of unmarked powder.

Lost in Cambodia

It wasn’t until the songthaew stopped in what was left of a war-shattered town along a ridge somewhere near the Thai border that we realized that we had been hijacked.

The route back to Phnom Penh had seemed strangely off-track after our brief stop to pick up a man along the road, but I assumed that the driver knew where he was going. The new passenger had sat up front, and we couldn’t see or hear their conversations. But the little covered pickup truck with benches in the back turned sharply right and drove even faster than usual across a broad plain. Soon, we began winding our way into forested hills to the west. My traveling partner, Michelle, a medic from Singapore, wondered aloud what was going on. Meanwhile, an older German couple that was traveling with us from Battambang back to Phnom Penh watched quietly.

Stopping in the wrecked town, we could hear yelling toward the front of the vehicle, but couldn’t see what was happening. Finally, the driver emerged at the rear and signaled that we should all get out. Michelle was the first out, and the German couple followed. Featured imageI didn’t say anything, and stayed inside while my partner engaged in a lively conversation with the driver. She glanced over briefly as two men with rifles slung over their shoulders approached and quickly lifted a third, younger man into the back of the vehicle. A tourniquet was wrapped tightly around the young man’s lower leg which ended abruptly where his left foot should have been. I stood up to make room for him on the floor of the truck, and that was when I took out my little camera, aimed it as discretely as I could, and took several hip-shots.

Eventually, Michelle authoritatively signaled to the German couple to get back into the songthaew, making it clear to the driver that no one was going to be left behind. One of the armed men then approached, and the conversation moved out of my view. But I could see the German couple looking on in confusion, and I waved to them to get back in. They did so, and sat across from me, glancing uneasily down at the man laying half conscious on the floor.

Michelle reappeared shortly thereafter, accompanied by the man whom the driver had first picked up along the main road. She climbed into the back and signaled us to help lift the young man with the tourniquet onto the bench where I had been sitting. She and I and the German man all lifted him from the floor, and I could see that our patient was probably just a teen-aged boy. Michelle gestured toward his leg, “Landmine.”  Meanwhile, the man who had apparently first hijacked us again climbed into the front of the little truck.

Much later, we would arrive at Calmette Hospital in Phnom Penh. During the intervening hours, Michelle explained that the men were probably either poachers or smugglers or both, and that the boy had apparently triggered the landmine several days earlier. She figured that the man who had made it down to the main road between Battambang and Phnom Penh was probably his father. Explaining through our driver that she was a medical worker, she had convinced him that it would be best for us to accompany the boy back to Phnom Penh.

I never saw Michelle again, nor did I ever find out what happened to the boy.  A few days later, I would be admitted to Calmette myself with a severe case of Dengue, probably contracted during the week we had spent traveling. And the photos from the back of the songthaew would be among the last I would shoot in Cambodia while there in 2002. In retrospect, they seem a fitting conclusion to my memories of that time.

Sandbags and Ammunition

This morning, I received a long email from a friend who is in Singapore. Below is an excerpt:
I have been here long enough now to be able to say to anyone who thinks America is way ahead of other countries, they should come to Singapore and see what a proper city looks like. No American city even comes close to Singapore in any respect. It is very modern, very clean, extremely attractive, exciting, almost no crime, no homeless, and it has very likable and happy people. Toronto is a great city also, but even it’s no Singapore. It makes me think that old American arrogance about us being better than anywhere else was maybe true years ago, but it sure isn’t true today.

A little later, I read in the morning news that the state where I reside is expanding the places into which residents may carry firearms. You’ll have to excuse my lack of enthusiasm.

It’s been a few years since my last visit to Singapore.  But the city-state also leaves me with the impression of both a high standard of living, and a high quality of life for its residents. And the two are very different things. Of the places I’ve called “home,” some had a standard of living far below that to which I have become accustomed in the US and elsewhere. And yet, the quality of life was surprisingly good. Once you get past the basics, standard of living probably has more to do with aesthetics.

For two years, I lived in a one-room house with an outdoor, communal kitchen in the city of ChiangMai in northern Thailand. It wasn’t a big or luxurious place by American standards. But it was safe, clean, comfortable, and friendly. It too was a good quality of life. In the US, I choose not to live in a city at all. It’s no less convenient, no more expensive, far safer, much friendlier, and more aesthetically appealing to live in a small town. The quality of life is good.  But I’ve also lived at the edge of Tokyo, the most populous city in the world.

Tokyo is also one of those cities that has a much higher standard of living than any US cities — at least the ones I’ve visited. It too is ultra-modern, convenient, exciting, safe, friendly and clean — at least by American standards. But like Singapore, it’s expensive… at least for visitors. The cost of a month in Tokyo might equate to a year in ChiangMai. Though just as with a pricey restaurant, a lot of what you’re paying for is the aesthetic. That’s not to say that a person can’t also experience a high quality of life in Tokyo. But just as with Singapore, it’s because there’s a commitment to investment in the kinds of infrastructure necessary to minimize poverty as well as to integrate an emerging population into the culture.

This seems to be a common theme in places where the quality of life is good, that something causes the population to embrace the culture. It grounds the identity of a people in an idea that gives the social structure personal meaning. It provides the people of a city, or of a nation, a sense of investment in the place where they live. It’s the difference between a “house” and a “home,” or a place where one merely survives and a place where one thrives and feels as a part of the culture. But in North America, only Canada seems to reflect this approach to any degree, as reflected in the cities of Vancouver and Toronto.

I’ve heard it said that this can’t be done in the US because we’re such a collection of disparate cultures. And I’ve also heard it argued that it’s why we should adopt a single, national language or religious identity, or that capitalism alone provides means to participate. But I don’t believe that any of this is true. Singapore is testimony that both standard of living and quality of life are not dependent upon any single language, religion, or ethnicity. And gritty ChiangMai defies appeal to any arbitrary economic construct with regard to quality of life. Rather, the common thread in the fabric of these societies is a mutual respect of others as something which carries a benefit to everyone. In effect, what goes around, comes around.

Contrast this to the thinking of some in the US that it’s every man for himself, and suddenly it becomes apparent why we can’t, or simply choose not to build a Singapore, or effective mass-transportation, or decent health-care or education systems, or low-cost housing, or infrastructure, or… A critical mass of social self-destruction doesn’t require a significant part of a population. The fear spread by just a few can rapidly destroy the works of many, and then the followers pile on in a frenzy of self-preservation by association. The social contract is broken, traded for a bunker mentality where quality of life gets exchanged for a paranoid accumulation of sandbags and ammunition.

It was already dark, and walking the route back from a night market in a small town in the mountains of far northern Thailand, a rough-looking bunch of teen-aged boys came toward us alongside the road. Hearing our English, one of them called out loudly, “Hello!” in a thick accent. They all laughed at the cocky demonstration of what was probably a skill taught at the local middle school. “Hello!” I called back, to even more laughter as they passed, flashing peace signs in the moonlight. Then the same boy called out, “Goodbye!” and I returned the call to the sound of more laughter fading into the distance.

It was a good moment, and I turned to my husband and said, “You know, this is a pretty safe place.”

He laughed. “Clearly, you’re an American.”

A Girl Who is Loved

part I: The Distance to the Horizon

I have some apprehensions at this journey…for the first time in my life, I’ll be truly alone. And I don’t know if that’s what I really want.” -Journal Entry, Saturday, February 2, 2002, ChiangMai, Thailand.

Featured imageIt was February 2002 in Phnom Penh, and a haze from burning rice fields hung in the air. A brief taxi ride concluded at a closed gate blocking a dirt driveway about a mile east of the airport. The driver didn’t wait, and several minutes passed before deciding to move the barrier myself. No one seemed to care.

That evening concluded with an apparently standard 10-second advisory that would leave me standing alone at the door of the cubicle that was now home, “Drink water only from the tank in the canteen, always use mosquito repellent and check under the bed netting before going to sleep, don’t leave the compound unaccompanied, and don’t go past yellow or red signs indicating land-mines. Any questions?

A few minutes later, a single day-pack released the last few possessions not abandoned in Thailand, and the physical sum of an identity lay scattered across a thin mattress. Home was an eight-by-eight room with plywood walls, a bunk and a cabinet, and a small window that looked out toward a wilderness littered with the debris of war.

Clinging to a last vestige of light through an open doorway, thoughts followed a haze-reddened sun into the outline of a forbidden landscape. Among few distractions beyond the occasional chatter of indecipherable voices in the halting music of Khmer, sleep would come to the cries of dogs in the distance.

part II: Useful Things

I spent most of the evening at the edge of the river behind the restaurant, enjoying a beer while watching the party boats drift past. I had forgotten how good it can feel to do nothing at all.” -Journal Entry, Saturday, February 19, 2000, ChiangMai, Thailand.

My presence having been termed a “nuisance,” finding some way to be of use seemed like a good idea. So while waiting for equipment to arrive from the university in Thailand, mornings yielded to working with a man who made temporary prosthetic sockets with plastic bottles sourced from a local landfill. In a resourcefully practical form of recycling, the bottles had their bottoms removed before being carefully heated and formed over plaster casts of stumps made by students. The threaded ends made a serviceable attachment point for a length of plastic pipe and a clamp for a tool such as a spoon.

Free moments wandering past the gate gradually expanded my domain into the neighborhood around the school, mostly small farms, a few houses, and the headquarters for a Christian relief group. It was a short walk to two main roads, and despite the warnings, the area seemed safe enough in daylight. Regardless, there were few options for distraction without means to reach the inner city on my own.

My social circle during that time consisted almost entirely of one of my students, a remarkably mature teen-aged girl, Sreymom. She also lived at the school, although her accommodations were rather more pleasant than my own. Except for her scarred hands, her small frame revealed none of the injuries inflicted upon so many Cambodians. She didn’t appear to have any family, but the topic was never discussed. Decades of war, genocide and famine had left many young Cambodians without families.

Sreymom’s curiosity and her eagerness to practice English resulted in evenings passed in conversation, and her composed but sincere companionship was a bright spot during an otherwise cheerless first week at the school. Aware of my stranded disposition, she introduced me to Samnang, a dark, good-looking but serious young man with a severe limp. Among other items, he brought bundled loads of those plastic bottles tied to the back of an old, smoking scooter.

The community middleman, Samnang ferried supplies from the local markets were he was able to negotiate better deals than the “barang,” or foreigners at the school. He addressed me directly in English with a thick Khmer accent — For a small fee, he could arrange a motorcycle. Describing my Kawasaki 250 back in Thailand evoked a tempered promise that he could find anythingfor the right price. He left with an assurance of a barang budget, and a clarification that anything bigger than a scooter would be fine.

Two days later, Samnang returned with a bright red, and suspiciously inexpensive Honda CG125 — with no identification. Assuring that the lack of documents would be “no problem,” he handed me a key in exchange for a collection of crisp American twenties. And indeed, as Samnang had suggested, it soon became apparent that probably half of the two-wheeled vehicles in Phnom Penh were sans identification. Civilization teetered on the edge of bureaucratic chaos, but the freedom was liberating.

part III: Missing Things

It occurred to me today that I am recognized here, not for my wealth or my deeds, but for my fortunate status.” -Journal Entry, Friday, November 30, 2001, Ban Mai Nai Soi refugee camp, Thailand.

The traffic back in ChiangMai had been wild, but there didn’t seem to be any rules at all in Phnom Penh. Vehicles sped headlong past slower traffic on the wrong side of the road. Uncontrolled major intersections were simply crossed by two-wheeled vehicles en-mass, the reasoning apparently that larger vehicles wouldn’t take on a big enough swarm. And complicating matters, the previous two-years in Thailand had accustomed my reflexes to negotiating the opposite side of roads. My head felt uncomfortably bare until tracking down a helmet.

Over the next few weeks, the little motorcycle proved a reliable distraction. Riding it almost daily allowed some escape, often simply by volunteering to shuttle smaller items from Calmette Hospital, or occasionally Kantha Bopha Children’s Hospital out to the prosthetics shop. Sreymom adorned the back seat often enough to warrant a second helmet, and in a lopsided exchange we shared what we knew of places in the city. From me, the French run “Hopital Calmette,” and the Japanese Embassy. From her, the downtown markets including the beautifully chaotic Mekong waterfront.

Unfortunately, the little Honda departed my company about six-weeks after it had arrived, apparently some time during the night. The sense of loss was surprising.

Marooned at the campus during a pleasantly warm evening, Sreymom kept me company while we sat under a tree and talked over an evening meal. It was difficult to hide my dismay at the loss of the little motorcycle, and discussing it was upsetting. So looking to change the topic, my conversation turned toward the meaning of her name. She paused, and a moment of distant thought crossed her face.  And thinking that the words had been unclear, the question was rephrased.

Girl who is Loved.”

So many wounded bodies, missing hands, feet, legs, eyes… they no longer evoked the compassionate grief they deserved. Empathy had become measured as the fractions of millimeters slowly peeled from the metal held in the machines my students used to make poor substitutes for lost knees. But to such loss, the Cambodian furnace had not yet hardened my own steel.

part IV: Figure of Peace

Saeng wears her spirit on her skin. Her back is adorned with the image of a dancing Apsara, a passionate but ethereal Cambodian Goddess and protector of fallen souls. On each side is a Yantra prayer inscribed by a temple monk, and a serene Buddha rests on one arm. They’re so beautiful that I’ve had to apologize for staring.  But I can only imagine what experience inspired their creation.” -Journal Entry, Tuesday, December 26, 2000, Chiang Mai, Thailand.

The next day arrived preoccupied by a need to apologize for such an unjustified lack of composure. But to my worry, Sreymom was nowhere to be found, nor again the next morning. However, Samnang appeared early on the second afternoon, and much to my amazement, with the little Honda at his side. He had recovered it from the person who took it, he explained. He had heard about its disappearance, and so he had located it for me and brought it back.

A defeated expression betrayed far more to the story before he turned away and limped out past the gate. It was a moment before recovering the clarity of mind to go after him. In exchange for his keeping it safe and maintained, he should also keep the motorcycle and ensure that it wouldn’t sit unused.

That evening, Sreymom’s calm smile and easy conversation conveyed nothing out of the ordinary while she organized supplies in the shop where the three milling machines sat idle. And the next afternoon, several large bundles of plastic bottles arrived on the back of the little Honda.