Things we want to remember to be thankful for (or at least something to ponder at Thanksgiving):

1) Lights that come on when you hit the switch rather than waiting, flashing, sputtering, and then coming on.

2) Air conditioned houses, every room.

3) Showering with a need for hot water, rather than showering only to feel the cold water.

4) Regular Internet access, it doesn’t even have to be high speed.

5) Enjoying a nice cold beer, emphasis on cold—well, and on beer.

6) The service industry: waiters, waitresses, hostesses, and clerks.  Tell someone thank you today just for caring about your opinion.

7) Traffic laws—who would have expected to miss such a thing?

8) Fall in Colorado, needing a jacket in the evening, seeing the leaves change, and enjoying the fall flavors of coffee and pastries, i.e. Pumpkin Spice Lattes, and Pumpkin Pie.

9) Coffee you can count on being good, or at least drinkable.

10) Not having lizards fall on you while eating dinner.

One night in Phnom Penh...

We are slowly figuring out our way around the city.  We know how to get home (usually) and we know major landmarks, but there are new sites everyday.  If I get lazy and don’t bring my camera, I undoubtedly wish I had.  Some things however, cannot be captured in a picture.  Words are limiting too, with my novice skill, but an attempt must be made in order to share our lives with you.  Last night we enjoyed dinner and were having a lovely tuk-tuk ride home when we decided to stop at the grocery store.  I believe Ben already wrote about tuk-tuks, and I will include a picture soon, but to summarize, they are open on all sides and pulled by a motorbike.  Ben and I were actually enjoying our tuk-tuk ride so much that we were making up a song; a little pastime you may not have known about us.

Suddenly we found ourselves surrounded by street kids.  We had ventured onto a busy street to go to the store, and although it was late at night the kids were out begging.  Three small children, none older than 7, jumped on board and started speaking rapid Khmer asking for food or money.  This may not be such a big deal, but they were not just riding with us.  The moto driver was going at least 15 miles an hour, and the kids were jumping on and off our tuk-tuk.  The smallest boy in particular was running along the cement divider between the lanes of traffic and was scaring me silly.  I was sure we were going to see his head hit the cement before we made it to the corner.  How badly I wished our Khmer lessons had started a week sooner.  Ben and I just sat there dumb-founded.  All I could think to ask was “where is your mother?” but that was obviously lost on them. 

As we reached the corner we found another few kids who, I can only assume, were part of the group.  A small girl was sitting on the cement divider holding a very small baby.  She didn’t ask for money or even move much; she just sat holding the child. 

How does one respond to this?

Phnom Penh...

On Saturday afternoon, after a brief layover in Laos, we arrived in Phnom Penh. Our joy and excitement at finally reaching our terminal destination is ineffable. Right now we are living at friend’s house in central Phnom Penh until we can move into our campus housing on September 16^th. The university we are teaching at is about 18 kilometers from downtown, and according to our sources, “is good Cambodian country life.” All that being said, we have a few wonderful antidotes to share with you since our arrival: the airport, French soccer, and tuk-tuks.

The International Airport of Phnom Penh is actually rather small, comprised of only two terminals. Being so small, one would think it easy to find the arriving party you are looking for. However, after we had already paid for our visas, and made our way to the baggage claim, our university’s representative ran up to us waiving a sign reading, “PETERS.” The bad news was that he wanted to pay for an official visa—we had already paid for a tourist visa—and insisted on going back through customs with us. Thus, what ensued was an hour long debate with Cambodian officials on visas: the ones we paid for, the ones our attaché wanted for us, and the ones the Cambodians felt we should have. It was insane and awkward. The university official with us was Korean, the Cambodian official was Khmer, and of course we are American; talk about culture clash. Eventually we worked it out, and Mr. Cho—our Korean university official—took us out to Chinese, because he felt bad. It was a great “hello” to Cambodia.

After Chinese, we moved into our new place. Another teacher with ELI lives there, and while he is gone for the summer, we will be taking over his space. There is only one catch; he has a French roommate named Alex. Now, Alex is a great guy, but since our French is non-existent we can only communicate with him through broken English. During our first conversation with him we drifted to the topic of soccer. He really enjoys soccer, and plays in a few leagues here in Phnom Penh. He said, in his broken English, that we—Ben and Bryant (a guy teaching with Andrea and me)—should play in his French league the next morning. He said, “don’t worry, we will provide the shorts, and jerseys.” Needless to say, it was a rather official game, but we figured…yeah! Why not?

So, Sunday morning we woke early and headed down to the Phnom Penh soccer stadium; yes, we actually played this game in a real-deal soccer stadium. Bryant and I donned our jerseys, warmed up on the pitch, and quickly were relegated to the bench. Yet, thirty minutes into the game, the French players were getting tired, and so the coach called our number. Out we ran onto the field, the crowds roared (not really), and we took our positions as mid-fielders. I played right-mid, and Bryant played center-mid. Now, I have never in my life played soccer, but that did not stop me. Within a few minutes of play a ball plopped down in front me with nothing lying between me and the goalie. So, I dribbled the ball down field (as I fended off a Khmer defender with my right elbow), took aim, and let loose. It was a beautiful kick. Quickly it shot out from my foot, curved left, the goalie dived, he fell short, and I realized, he missed! Holy crap, I am about to score my first soccer goal ever. I am in Cambodia, under the blistering humid sun, in an official soccer stadium, playing on a French team against a Khmer team, and I am about to score a goal. Then…CLANG!!! It hit the post, rolled in front of the goal, and out of bounds. Seriously, five centimeters to the left, and my fate as a soccer hero would have been sealed. As it was, I was pretty stoked I even hit the post, and due to my small success, am planning on playing in the weekly French games.

Lastly, tuk-tuks! Tuk-tuks are carts strapped on the back of motor scooters. For about a dollar a ride you can travel all over the city. It is really an easy and convenient way to travel. However, last night on our way to the grocery store street kids began to crawl and climb all over our tuk-tuk looking for money or food (what they called, “yum-yums”). It was heartbreaking; no more than six years of age, in tattered cloths and shoes—some with babies—we saw, face-to-face, the poverty hidden amongst the economic growth of Cambodia.

In our short time in Phnom Penh, these are just a few of our experiences. It is wholly different from Vietnam, and, like any traveling, will take time for us to adjust. We miss you all so much, and look forward to sharing more of our journeys soon.

journal article for class (one frustrating moment in southeast asia)...

On Friday afternoon the ELI team went to the Vietnamese Museum of Ethnology. All-around, it was a wonderful cultural and learning experience. However, there was one situation in which I became rather frustrated. Let me fully explain: the museum is made up in two parts. The first part is an indoor exhibit focusing on the various ethnic groups comprising Southeast Asia. The second is an outdoor walkabout showing interested tourists and locals how these various ethnic minorities live. The museum is home to rebuilt huts, developed dwellings (i.e. community centers), and villages. The incident in question happened at one of the aforementioned community center buildings.

The community center was about four stories high after accounting for the fact that it was about two stories off the ground. In other words, in order to get into this particular dwelling one had to climb about ten feet via wooden logs that had been notched out with foot holds. Once up the logs, there was a common area, or what we might call a deck, where people milled about waiting to take off their shoes before entering the structure. On the far end of the deck, opposite the “stairs,” was a small door.

After climbing the stairs myself, I made my way across the “deck” to the entrance of the community hut. I slipped off my sandals, and began to enter the lodging as an Asian woman was slowly making her way out. I kid you not, she stopped in the doorway, sat down—blocking the way completely—and began to, turtle like, put on her socks: first sock, a break, second sock, and then—apparently strained from the socks—it was time for a breather. She looked about. She soaked up some sun. She allowed the humidity to wash over her like a warm shower. Then, ready for the shoes, she began to put on one shoe followed by the other. But wait! Not to be rushed, she languidly went back to the first shoe and, taking her time, began to lace and tie her sneakers; this, painfully, followed by the second. Then, as if it could not be anymore torturous, she put elbows to knees and took in the scene. Like she was on her own back porch! Mind you, I was literally two feet away from her this whole time waiting to get inside this ancient structure of minor ethnic groups in Southeast Asia. We were ten feet in the air waiting on a porch, and I was getting really, really hot. MOVE already!!!

Finally, she moved. I entered. And I had a good story to tell.

If you had not already noticed, while this woman was sitting down enjoying the day, I just stood there. Like the big goofy American I am. Who knows? Maybe she was just messing with me, but I have a hankering to believe that what I should have done is, politely, yet uncomfortably, walked past her. I assume in her mind my walking past her would not have been an invasion of privacy, for either of us, but to me it would have seemed awkwardly close. Next time I’ll just move on past.

my brief moment of panic...

There are a few things about the hotel we are living in you must first understand in order to fully visualize my moment of panic. Let me state first and foremost that we are staying at a nice place. Throw out the image in your mind of hotels you have been to, it is not the same, but it is enough.  Culture affects everything, especially the trade of hospitality.  Our room is decent, the beds are comfortable and we have all our needs met, namely AC. 

Things you must understand:

1) When housekeeping finishes with the room they turn off the power to the room in a little box OUTSIDE the door.  Power is valuable, why waste it if we are not even there? It does not matter if there is food in the fridge or if the room gets quite warm in your absence. Along with that, there are commonly power outages, and if we are lucky the generator will run to keep lights in the ballroom where our class meets.  No power in the rest of the hotel for hours at a time. 

2) The second thing is that we have one metal key to access our room. There are not multiple copies should you both need one.  Additionally, the door does not stay shut unless it is locked, so you must lock it when you come and go. The funny thing is that you lock the door either from the outside or the inside, both are secure, therefore you can get locked in. I think you see where I am going.

3) The bathrooms are nice, but privacy is something to be desired. Each bathroom shares a wall with the hallway.  Not that strange you might think, except that there are two rather large windows from the bathroom into the hallway that open about 6 inches each.  There is someone down the hall for example, who has rather loud morning habits that wake me up.  I am not sure of the purpose these windows serve, but they let in sound and air.  They also let our air conditioned air out into the muggy hallway.

Which brings to mind the fact that the whole hotel is not air-conditioned, only the bedrooms and the restaurant, and the ballroom.  When the power goes off it gets warm quickly.

To my story: I woke up yesterday not feeling 100% and Ben let me sleep in.  He left while I was still asleep so he locked the door behind him so it would not fly open.  I was sleeping soundly when I heard the air click off. I lay there for a while longer but I started to get hot. I rolled over to turn on the light…nothing.  Interesting. I walked to the door…locked. I stepped up on the bathtub to look out the window… no one.   I walked back into the bedroom to try to figure out what to do. I knew Ben would come, at very least, around noon when class broke for lunch, but it was only 9:30 and I had no lights, no phone, no air and I was trapped.  I went back to the bathroom to try to see if I could reach my arm out to the power switch on the wall in the hallway, but I could not get close.  I sat back down on the bed trying to decide how to best entertain myself for what could be hours in a hot, dark room.  I was just starting to get desperate, deciding if I needed to just start wailing on the door to get a housekeeper to come, when I heard the lock on the door click and in walked my knight in shining armor.  Ben came to check on me during mid-morning break!!! My hero!!! It turned out the whole hotel was out of power and needless to say it got really hot really quickly. I was still happy to be let free. Just one of the little joys we face in Hanoi.

museum of ethnology...

this is andrea outside the fertility temple at the vietnamese museum of ethnology.

ha long bay...

ha long bay...

ha long bay...

ha long bay...

andrew and kiara

so...we somehow traveled all the way to southeast asia, and don't have your contact information.  crazy, right?  that being said, we really want to talk.  our skype is a_b_peters, or email us at bpeters@elic.org, or apeters@elic.org.  we look forward to talking soon.

mid-week post...

we have finished our first graduate certificate class, asian culture and communication, and are halfway through our second, teaching methodology. each class is exciting, but the days can be long. by five o'clock our brains are typically fried.
interestingly, each afternoon in our classroom the rain is so loud that we can barely hear our teacher. a typhoon was forecasted today in the greater hanoi area; the sky was hazy and pink from our sixth story classroom window. a hanoi resident mentioned to us that the buildings here look much older than they actually are due to the amount of rain vietnam receives each year. this makes sense as the hotel ballroom, which we take our classes in, neighbors a messy storage-room where the roof leaks large amounts of water.
periodically the electricity shuts off during the day. during one of these power outages, andrea stepped onto the balcony to see large rats running on the ground below in a pile of rubble. she was a little freaked to say the least.
andrea is just past her first trimester, and is feeling better. however, her nights are much longer as she cannot seem to sleep now. so, if any of you might have good advice for her, please pass it along.
we miss you all, and look forward to skyping or exchanging emails soon.

a journal entry for class: street observations...

The bustling streets of Hanoi are a quagmire. The constant ebb and flow of motor-scooters maneuvering between vehicles, turning at leisure, and honking in the place of indicators is nausea to my western sensibilities. Yet, in observing an average Hanoi rush hour I quickly learned a few important aspects of Vietnamese culture.
Hanoi is hot. Hanoi is humid. Hanoi knows nothing of the weather patterns I daily face in Denver, Colorado. While the sun unceasingly beats down on my poor American head creating a humidity that feels like being naked in the heat with a plastic jump suit on, I longingly recall the dry cool heat in the elevated mile-high city. Why, I then ask myself, would the women of Vietnam, when outside, wear jackets or arm sleeves adding to the heat? Apparently this is a common and accepted practice, however much it vexes the western mind.
Another thing I noticed, shocking would be an understatement, is Vietnamese people who, rather than taking stock of their surroundings, charge ahead mid-traffic expecting the vehicles to dodge oncoming pedestrians. Uh, what? This is strange, especially to me who, from a very early age, was indoctrinated with the mantra, “look both ways before crossing the street.” I give the Vietnamese props though; it takes guts to cross the street in the face of four-hundred scooters bearing down at thirty miles per hour.
Taxis are fodder aplenty for watchful tourists. Rather than using blinkers, they weave in and out of scooters honking wildly (which is apparently an elaborate non-verbal communication technique used and known by most Southeast Asians). I assume this is their way of announcing the presence of an alpha vehicle to those brave, but lesser, scooter operators surrounding them, imagine chum to whales. Or maybe, it is just a turn signal. Either way, for a westerner, it’s disconcerting. Actually, what really boggles the mind is the willingness of Vietnamese mothers to take their little ones into this hotbed of traffic violations.
While more could be “teased-out” in regards to the culture shock—read "culture stress"—that a typical Hanoi rush hour provides, it is not too much to say that it also betrays a Vietnamese vibrant zest for life. The fluidity of the Capital’s streets speaks to a collective trust inherent in the Vietnamese social conscience. One can blindly pull out into the asphalt jungle in full confidence knowing that the “other” will slow down, and allow one’s entrance into the constant flow of scooters. One sees this not only in the street, but also in the “sidewalk culture” of Hanoi. Look up or down a given street and you will see people spilling out of shops, sitting in chairs, laying in the shade of advertisements, or mulling about in conversation. If you are lucky, you will see the youth of Hanoi, having spread a net from street corner to street pole, playing a game of badminton. Where in America, at least in my experience, the street is functional—a medium of transportation or a bed for the homeless—it becomes a destination in Vietnam, a place for social interactions.
As I am, and will continue to be, in awe over the dynamic relationship between Vietnamese motorist, pedestrian, and the road, I also look forward to comparing my roadside experience in Vietnam with rush hour in Phnom Penh.

Vietnamese Street

Vietnamese Street

Vietnamese Street