"Krama, Krama. Don't you wanna? Krama, Krama."

listen up, this is a krama!
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In Kampong Cham, you can witness the only bridge in Cambpdia that crosses the Mekong River.  What a sight it is... out of nowehere, this gorgeous, modern bridge stretches high across the river.

Rented motos and toured an island on the Mekong.  We visited a tobacco farm and met some of the locals that harvest and cure the crops.  We came across this elderly man smoking a big fatty.  He was willing to give us westerners a try of this unfiltered, black tobacco.  He pulled out a piece of paper, which used to be a child's schoolwork, and wraps some of this harshness into a stogie sized cigarette.  After coughing from the potent smell of the dried leaves, we left the smoking to Chris (since it's inappropriate for women to smoke in Cambodia.  The women chew, beetle nut, but cannot smoke?).

"...I felt like mommy gave me too much ridilin and I wasn't being true to the dancefloor."

the elder sharing his tobacco with chrissy.
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Kampong Cham is the home of the Cambodian Krama (pronounced kroh-mah).  So, I think this would be as good a time as any to list the many uses of a Krama for ya'll.  First, I'll start by describing the krama.  It's a gingham patterned, large scarf.  That should describe it for you.

The many uses of a krama: scarf.  mouth/nose guard from dust.  head cover from the sun.  face shield from bugs when driving a moto.  rag.  wash cloth.  towel.  skirt for men when they are done in the shower.  emergency toilet paper.  baby basket (around the neck or tied to the front of a moto.  not a joke.).  a strap to carry baskets filled with books.  shawl.  sweat remover.  pot holder.  belt.  ahhh... the list goes on... these are all actual ways that I have seen the krama used.  I'm sure there are a ton more.

laureen, pleasing many kids with her skills at popping ballons with darts. this took place at the "super concert" we went to.
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I'm beginning to learn that just about every place or thing can be considered a home to Cambodians.  There is something beautiful about seeing people live everywhere.  There are also times that it's a bit difficult to see what is a home for some.  You will be walking on the sidewalk and realize that you are occupying someone's home.  People live in their street carts.  Sleep on their motos, tuk-tuks.  Hammocks on the sidewalk.  Tables with a mosquito net hanging over top.  A tarp covering a small section of the sidewalk.  Markets.  The ground.  Of all the places that I have seen people curl up and call home, the one that hit the hardest was a gravel pile.  There were four children, a father and mother (I assume) that were all sleeping on a heap of gravel together.  Their only posessions were the clothes that they wore.

just the beginning of how many people, nikes, motos, ponies, etc. that got onto this wooden raft with us.
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I recently read that the average Cambodian owns two pair of clothes and earns about $220 a year.  That's my budget for three weeks of travel!  In the states that was my monthly loan payment.  Take a moment to imagine living off of 65 cents a day...now imagine supporting a family off of that?!  It makes you think twice about that new pair of shoes that you just "have to have."

Attended my first Khmer wedding here.  One might call it "crashing", but we were invited... in an odd sort of way.  Laureen and I were walking down the street one night when we noticed a bright yellow and pink tent.  The father of the bride just so happened to be taking a piss on the side of the road and he jumped at the idea of bringing westerners into his daughter's wedding.  It's some sort of prestige.  If I've ever imagined an Indian wedding, this was it.  Colorful.  Big.  Spending all of the money you do or do not have on this one evening.  The reception was right on the dirt ground with plastic chairs covered in pink material.  The dance floor was a somewhat cement/gravel area that housed a sound system with blown speakers.

working in the tobacco fields.
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There we were... shorts, ratty pigtails, backpacks, the days sweat and t-shirts (mine just happened to be a landmine t-shirt)... how appropriate for a wedding.  No one seemed to mind and if they did... well, then we gave Canada the bad name.  The father had us sit at the head table with him.  He moved two people out of their seats and began pouring us beer.  I can't help but chuckle at how frequently my glass was filled.  Your glass never gets below half full.  You hear "lu kao" and "chin chin" every thirty seconds.  Everytime someone finishes a glass or pours more beer you have to toast.  I'm thankful for the cold beer in the unbearable heat.

more tobacco fields.
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It wasn't long before we were invited to dance.  Itching to bust out my dance moves and show the khmer's just how well I can "shake a rug," I had to remind myself that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.  The khmer dance is referred to as 'apsara'.  It involves limited movement from the body and the rest is all done by moving your hands, waving from side to side at one's side, gracefully.  GRACEFULLY?!  I don't do grace.  I couldn't help but notice just how large my consciously small movements were in comparison to the khmer women.  It was at this wedding that I was introduced to the khmer's favorite questions, which I would soon hear everywhere I go in Cambodia, "Are you happy?!  I am wary happy?!  Are you HAPPY?!"

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Now, for those of you that have been dancing with me, please, acknowledge what a difficult task this calm and graceful hour must have been for Laureen and I.  I'm no "dancer" persay, but I love it and when I hit the dance floor it's like speed and cocaine have just met for the first time and they are really excited!   Dancing the 'apsara' was completely cinematic and beautiful, but after about five minutes I felt like mommy gave me too much ridillin and I just wasn't being true to the dance floor.