Each night I have a choice for dinner: Go Local or Eat something I can pronounce?
Last night I decided to go local. This decision was heavily influenced by the need to be temporarily relieved of my duties with KEWIC.
The western pub on the corner is filled with old men and their local lolitas and I can’t stand it. My foot grows sore from passing out the justice. If only the grilled fish and mashed potatoes weren’t to die for?
Anyhow, I passed on the fish and sought out a busy local place I’ve walked by a few times. They cook skewered meat and butter-drenched French bread over open flames. I was never able to id the meat, which was kind of off-putting (I think…
Wherever you are police blotters make for interesting reading. Here in Cambodia they are slightly more morbid, but definitely possess the one quality that makes any blotter worth reading – too much information.
This particular blotter covers 10 days of crimes, mostly murders. The clips I’ve included below offer a little insight into present day Cambodia.
Police suspected revenge was the motivation for the killing because villagers had been unhappy with Seav and had accused him of sorcery.
…shot him once in the neck with a homemade handgun.
…was murdered with a bamboo stick while riding home on a bicycle.
…was found hanging from a mango tree…Police said he probably hanged himself…He recently argued with his mother-in-law after he sold a bicycle for money to drink wine.
I don’t write the news. I think I know how to put that fancy little accent mark over the “e” in expose, but I’m too lazy to do it. Journalists don’t use I when they write.
Why is it then that here in Cambodia everyone knows me as a journalist or a member of the press? If the press has meetings, secret handshakes, or mottos, I don’t know about them. I don’t have a press pass. I don’t want one.
The problem is no one knows what a freelance writer is. Here’s how I introduce myself:
“I’m Kelsey Timmerman, a freelance writer from the USA.”
Then whoever I’m talking to scratches their head as they try to figure out what a freelance writer is. I…
In honor of Cambodia’s countless Non-Governmental Organizations, which seem to do some pretty darned good things and employee boat-loads of Cambodians, I’m announcing a new contest…
Create Your Own NGO!
(Am I the only that hears/reads “NGO” and starts singing Clap! Clap! “N-G-O” Clap! Clap! “N-G-O…And BINGO was his name-oh!”?)
Fight poverty, fight injustice, or fight your pet peeves, you just gotta fight for something. In the comments of this post, tell me a little about your NGO: what it does, who it does it for or to, where it will be based, why it is needed, why it only employees retired circus clowns, etc.
For an idea of what I’m looking for, refer to my recent post where I layout the details for my imaginary NGO,
Paul has won a t-shirt I received while walking in Bibi Russell’s parade during the Bangla New Year. It’s small, almost muscle-shirt tight. I thought it was pretty cool having a t-shirt with Bangla on it. And Then I wore it one day and a friend asked me where I got the shirt advertising toilet paper. Hence, congratulations Paul. You deserve it.
Paul, email me your address and I’ll send you the shirt in the near future. Note: It’s currently in Cambodia with me, so it could be a month or two before you get it.
Who single-handedly brought sexy back and then sexy vomitted…
Not sure I’m digging Phnom Penh. I know it’s too early to make the call on Cambodia as a whole, since I haven’t been to the countryside, but here in PP there are a lot of foreigners who give the rest of us foreigners a bad name.
I just saw a man that should be walking with a walker being helped down the street, arm-in-arm, by a beautiful Khmer girl between the ages of 18-22. Quite the ladies man. Who cares if you can’t control your bladder when you still got what it takes (dollars) to land a little hottie? Walk proud old man, walk proud. Or should I say, hobble proud old man, hobble proud.
The bird man taps the open, wood cage against the concrete rail overlooking the confluence of the Tonle Sap and Mekong rivers. A woman who paid the man a few thousand Cambodian riel (not much) watches.
Two-thirds of the birds took off within a second or two of the cage door being opened, but a few stragglers aren’t so sure about the free world. Eventually they flop out, open their wings, and off they go.
This is a Buddhist thing. I’ve seen it before in Nepal. The purchaser tries to tip Karma in their favor a bit by freeing the birds. If I were a bird I would much prefer this river setting in Phnom Penh over the gritty chaos of Katmandu. But I’m not…