So you wanna take a cruise...

I did it, guys. I went on my first cruise! For someone who is both claustrophobic and slightly terrified of being out in the middle of large bodies of water, this is a very big deal. I know there are people out there who go on cruises the way snowbirds trek to Florida. But I have never been one of those people. Besides, I feel like every time I turn on the news (which is technically never, but hypothetically speaking) there's some tragic story about a food poisoning outbreak on a cruise ship or a cruise ship that had to be evacuated due to bad weather or pirates attacking a cruise ship (that happened, right?). Either way, no matter how much my friends, co-workers, and acquaintances would chat up their amazing cruise, I remained firmly on the fence about the whole thing. Did traveling to an exotic tropical location while having my every need catered to sound like an ideal way to travel? Yes. Did I want to die a slow and miserable death of E. coli poisoning while simultaneously drowning in a windowless cabin in the bowels of a cruise ship? No. No, I most certainly did not.

However, as this year's spring break continued to creep closer and my faithful travel buddy, Emily, and I had still failed to solidify affordable travel plans to a sunny destination, a cruise began to sound more and more appealing. Thanks to her persistence (and the fact that our other travel options continued to be quite pricey), we eventually settled on a 5-day cruise to the Caribbean with Carnival.

I would be lying if I said that I didn't experience some mild anxiety at the thought of being stuck in a small cabin on a large boat in the middle of the ocean for five days. But as time passed and we booked an exciting excursion in Cozumel and I realized all of the really cool stuff that would be on our boat, the whole thing started to seem more like an adventure and less of the Titanic/Jaws nightmare it had morphed into in my mind. Honestly, once I went through the packing checklist that Carnival so kindly emailed to us a few weeks before departure, I felt like I had this whole thing in the bag.

But traveling via cruise ship really is a whole different ballgame that comes with its own unique set of rules and etiquette and there are a few things I wish I had known prior to boarding. (To be fair, most of this information probably could have been found in a quick Google search but, being the absolute newbies that we were, I don't think we even knew what questions to ask.) So, here goes. A short(ish) list of a few things we wish we had known before we set sail:

1) Come dressed for the pool (or at least the poolside)
Now, Carnival had sent us a nice little message telling us to bring our swimwear and a change of clothes in our carry-on luggage. Since I wasn't checking any bags, I ignored this little blurb since I'd always have everything with me between my backpack and small rolling suitcase. Wrong. Once we showed up at the cruise terminal, all of our suitcases (small and large) were tagged and whisked away to be later delivered to our staterooms. (All rooms on the cruise ship are called staterooms, regardless of actual stateliness.) We were told that they would be delivered some time between 3-6pm (it was 12pm when we checked in and boarded the boat). I didn't think too much of it. I was in my comfortable flying clothes (leggings and a t-shirt) and still had my backpack with the essentials with me (sunglasses, toiletries, etc). What were a few hours? Well, as soon as we reached the top deck and stepped out into the brilliant Florida sunshine and encountered the pool, I realized just how long those hours would be. The more savvy of the cruisers were already in full vacation mode: swimsuits on, sunscreen slathered, and drinks in hand. Over the next several hours, while they were splashing and tanning, I sat languishing in my sneakers and black leggings wishing I had come as ready to jump into summer as they had. So, my fellow cruise newbies, make sure that you pack those flip flops and swimsuits in your personal item and not your carry-on or checked luggage if you want the party to start the instant your feet hit the deck.

2) Forget room service
With all of the many and incredibly tasty food options that will be at your disposal, there is really no need to ever wait around for room service. (Unless, you're laid up in bed with, y'know, E. coli or something.) The restaurants are open for large stretches of time for each meal and literally have something for everyone, so you can eat to your heart's content. Being the ignorant newbs that we were (and not realizing the heavenly breakfast spread that awaited us upstairs), we ordered breakfast from room service on our first morning. Not only did they fail to bring us our order, but when we called down and placed the order again, they brought us the wrong thing! While we were staring at our slices of dry toast and peanut butter, all of the better informed guests were chowing down on bacon and made-to-order breakfast burritos.

3) Bring your own lanyard (that works!)
Carnival did kindly tell each of us to bring a lanyard to use with our Sail and Sign card so we knew this beforehand. I faithfully brought a lanyard that I had from a conference I had gone to earlier in the month. What I didn't realize was that the clip on the end of my lanyard was in no way able to grasp on to the slick plastic card that I was given when we boarded. Emily and I both ended up having to buy a Carnival lanyard (which I'm sure they were only too happy to sell us) that had a clip with a clear plastic card holder attached to it. Yes, it turns out my lanyard would have sufficed if I had only also kept the plastic name tag holder from the conference as well. Oh well. Lesson learned. Take a note from me and bring your own lanyard with card holder.

4) Make sure you know exactly how you're getting ashore
I'm actually not entirely sure if even savvy cruisers can get this information beforehand, but we discovered on the night before we arrived at our first destination--the Caymans--that we would not be docking the cruise ship at the port. Instead, water shuttles would transport us the short distance from ship to shore since their dock could not accommodate such a large ship. For someone such as myself who does not get seasick, this was more of an inconvenience than anything. I actually found bouncing around on the waves quite enjoyable. However, if you're the type of person who has an intimate relationship with Dramamine, this was not a pleasant surprise.

5) Channel your inner Dora the Explorer
And by this I mean: take the time to thoroughly explore where everything is on the ship, and the sooner the better. Emily and I realized on the second to last day of the cruise that we had literally been walking the opposite direction and then backtracking our way to the top deck several times a day when in fact we were a very short elevator ride away. We also realized other fun little things like the library didn't just have books but board games as well. And the adults had their own separate lounge area with whirlpools and wicker beach chairs (with cushions!). And the USA-themed piano bar was not, in fact, the same thing as the United States bar. (Really, guys?) We also failed to thoroughly explore our room and discovered (again, on the penultimate day of our cruise) that our desk cabinet housed a mini-fridge and the desk drawer was home to a hair dryer. Literally, the last places we thought of to look because who puts a hair dryer in a desk?! (Was I a little annoyed about that because I really could have used one the day we got back from the beach? Yes.)

6) Feel free to dress to impress
While I firmly adhere to my fashion mantra of comfort over cuteness and brought only one nice dress for our "Cruise Elegant" evening, I was surprised to see that a fair amount of cruisers got all dolled up most evenings to go to dinner. I must say, there were a few times that I felt a little underdressed heading to the dining room alongside men in slacks and women in heels. Suddenly my (very comfortable) shorts and tank top seemed a little out of place. That's not to say that I was the only guest dining in casual gear, but if dressing to the nines is your thing, you will certain have ample opportunities to do so.

7) Wake up early and get the good chairs
Since I've only been on one cruise and am clueless about the layout of other ships, this bit of advice may be a moot point for you. However, on the Carnival Paradise which had it's one and only pool located on the top deck, the prime beach chair spots were those located around the pool (the pool was also next to two of the bars...so...that might have also influenced things). Either way, on days when you are at sea and not at one of your destinations, chances are you're going to spend the majority of the day in a beach chair relaxing (as you should). With that said, it is crucial to secure a deck chair in a location that is conveniently located next to the pool, food, drinks, and live entertainment. Wherever that spot is on your boat, make sure that you get there early and secure your chairs for the day. You don't want to be that newb who shows up at 11:00am and spends an hour mournfully walking back and forth between occupied seats desperately hoping that someone will suddenly have a change of heart and decide that, yes, they would rather go sit in their cold, windowless stateroom instead of enjoying a chilled margarita as they sit poolside basking in the sunshine. One can hope, I guess.

That's all I've got folks! If you're a cruise pro, please feel free to leave your own tips and advice below.

In case you weren't entirely sure from the rambling and satirical nature of this post, I had an amazing time on our cruise and can't wait to do another. It's definitely a unique way to travel geared towards those looking for a few days of easy, stress-free downtime. While I can't say that this would be my primary choice when it comes to ways of seeing the world, it's certainly a nice break from my usual mode of travel which requires a lot more effort and organization on my part. If you do end up booking a cruise in the near future, I hope that these tips make your trip just that much more enjoyable. Bon voyage!

"Sva" means "monkey", not subject verb agreement

My alarm goes off at 6:30am. I blink, feeling bleary-eyed and still slightly jet-lagged. A slit of weak daylight has begun to seep around the edges of my curtain as I slide my feet into my flip flops and glance back at the bed I've just vacated. It's a habit I've fallen into here. On a good day, my sheets are bare. Today I spot one tiny, dark mass and see the mangled remains of an ant I squashed in my sleep. Only one. Not bad. I make my way down the short hall to the bathroom, noting the little gecko who likes to hang out on the mirror. He's incredibly tiny, delicate even, and doesn't alarm me. I send him scurrying as I shut the bathroom door.

Kim is already awake and I can hear her putting the pot of filtered water on the stove to boil for instant coffee. When I finish washing and dressing, I join her in the kitchen. Breakfast is two pieces of toast and two small bananas that I purchased yesterday from a roadside vendor. Well, "roadside vendor" might be too generous a term perhaps. An older woman with a banana tree on her property had simply put up a small card table alongside the road with a few bunches she had gathered that morning. For less than a dollar, I had purchased a bunch of ten. They are surprisingly unlike the larger versions I purchase from the grocery store at home. The skin is thin and the flesh is so much sweeter.

We sit at the counter--drinking coffee, munching our breakfasts--and put the final touches on our lesson plans. Bootcamp is starting to wind down. We're coming up on our final classes with our students and I am desperate to impart as much SAT wisdom to them as time will allow. Any further practice and preparation from here on out will largely rely on them.

At 7:50 we stuff our backpacks with our massive SAT books, worksheets, and water and make the short trek from our apartment to the main building. It's sunny and, although it's early, it's already 80 degrees. I can hear the junior students, already gathered, talking and laughing loudly in the open-air assembly space on the roof of the school. We pause outside of the main building to remove our flip flops. You don't wear shoes inside in Cambodia, and school is no exception. Even though it's our second week and I've started to become accustomed to this practice, I still feel a shiver of pleasure as my feet pass across the sun-warmed tiles and move up the smooth wooden staircase. I love being barefoot and I instantly feel relaxed and at home.

The senior students are beginning to trickle in, too. Some of them lean casually against the upstairs railing, chatting with each other and calling out "good mornings" as Kim and I make our way up the stairs. I see Malika and she starts to rehash our game of knockout on the basketball court yesterday. She and I are both feeling a bit under the weather and I tease her about getting me sick. We move closer to the doorways of our respective classrooms and I spot quiet Sopor and Sytong, who both offer me a wave and a smile. I walk into the classroom, which is already occupied by the more punctual students. Sopheak is there, leaping around, and she rushes up to give me a hug "just because". I ask the students how their homework went last night and I am met with both groans and smiles. Clearly, some of them are feeling more confident than others.

By 8:00 every seat is filled and we begin. Today we're talking about question types on the Writing & Language test. As we work our way through my PowerPoint, I identify the grammar topic being addressed in each question type, provide them with step-by-step strategies, and give them an abbreviation they can use to label the questions. I click to the next slide: this one discusses subject-verb agreement. The abbreviation for this question type pops up beside the title: SVA. I open my mouth to launch into my explanation and instantly hear tittering among the students. I look at them quizzically as the laughter begins to build. Dalin, one of my more outspoken students, quickly dispels my confusion. "Amanda, sva means monkey in Khmer!" she calls out between giggles. Of course it does. I give them a wry smile and thank them for adding to my incredibly limited Khmer vocabulary. Class continues.

I rotate through the two other classes as the day passes. In one classroom, Sreypich tells me more about her involvement on the frisbee team and asks if I play, while Sophat blares his latest musical creation from his laptop. He's posted it on YouTube and it's already gotten 6,000 views. He's ecstatic. Maya and Vitou arrive late so, with the students prompting, I make them sing a few bars of Ed Sheeran's "Perfect" and "Shape of You" as "punishment". They have good voices and the rest of the students clap and sing along good-naturedly. In the other classroom, Kimseng continues to thwart my attempts at correctly pronouncing Makara's name (pronounced Mah-kah-RAH) by shouting "it's MaKAHra" every time I ask her to repeat her name. He and I toss sarcastic remarks back and forth and I am reminded of conversations with my brothers. Venghour stands with a few other students practicing dance moves from a recent music video. He flips his hair back flamboyantly and struts around, flashing me a huge grin. He's always on the move. Always smiling.

My days here have been so incredibly full. Without an ounce of inhibition, these 51 students have opened their hearts and minds and classrooms to us. Drawing us in with their stories and antics and incredible thirst for learning. I can say, with all honesty (and after having taught on five different continents), that these students are the best I have ever had the pleasure of teaching. They are curious, diligent, motivated, responsible, creative and respectful. Having been hand-selected from poor, rural towns and villages across Cambodia and given a chance to live and learn tuition free at Liger, they recognize firsthand what an amazing privilege education is. This acknowledgement has created in them such an incredible drive and passion for learning and exploration. No, perhaps not created. Each of these students were selected because they already had those embers burning inside them. But certainly those embers are being fanned into roaring flames here. Each and every student is committed to wringing out every single drop of knowledge from this experience, and it shows.

I am so honored to have had the opportunity to make my own small contribution towards helping both Liger and its students move closer to their goal of "develop[ing] socially conscious, entrepreneurial leaders of tomorrow". While I know that I will likely never see most of these students again nor discover where their journeys lead, perhaps one day I will come across an article or podcast or news report and hear how Sovannou or Rika or Davit or Ketya are changing our world.

An afternoon in Ta Khmau

Over the last week, Karen (our tokkae-wrangler) and I have fallen into a fairly regular routine of going for a bike ride after classes end each day. These excursions have provided me the opportunity to explore the area where we live, Phum Champuh K'aek, and take full advantage of the wealth of knowledge from Karen's four years of living in Cambodia.

For our first trek, Karen took me across the river to Ta Khmau (pronounced TOK-mao). We left Liger's campus and headed down the wide, dusty, and relatively empty road that runs in front of the school. The street is lined with dwellings and a host of stands and small shops selling a variety of things: fruit, vegetables, gasoline, toiletries, clothing, etc. There's even a small coffee shop, Marin Coffee, just a minute from school that makes fancy Starbucks-esque coffee and fruit beverages. (Kim is slowly working her way through the menu and has already availed herself of three of their specialty beverages.)

After only a few minutes we took a hard right, passing through a stone entryway. Another wide paved pathway greeted us, even emptier than the main road. Immediately, on either side of us, intricately carved stone mausoleums appeared between the trees. Khmer inscriptions scrolled across their facades and each entryway was marked with a closed door or locked metal gate. We also passed tombstones covered in colorful Chinese characters. Karen explained this odd mix of mausoleums and tombstones. Chinese people prefer to be buried in the ground, while Cambodians are cremated and/or rest above ground. In the picture below, you can see the tombstones with Chinese inscriptions, and in the background stand the mausoleums of deceased Cambodians.

Monks swathed in their bright orange robes made their way here and there to the various buildings dotting the complex. Couples out for a stroll meandered along the tree-lined paths, while young children scampered behind each other as their parents sat chatting nearby. We passed two young girls, probably four or five, right in the middle of a game of hide and seek. One of them stood with her hands over her eyes counting loudly in English, while her little friend crouched behind a bush just mere feet from her. It was clear they were still working on the finer points of the game.

Most of the people in the complex, however, were doing what we were: riding their motos or bicycles (or the odd car) through the complex simply to get to the main road on the other side. When we first passed through the gateway, I assumed that this was a sacred place because of the very obvious religious buildings and statues dotted throughout, and because it also served as a cemetery. I even asked Karen right after we had made the turn if we were allowed to ride our bikes in here. She assured me it was fine and I was surprised to see just how much of a thoroughfare it was as we biked further in. There was no difference between the roads in this complex and those outside of it.

We wound our way through the complex and finally found ourselves turning onto a very busy main thoroughfare. Here cars, trucks, motos, and bikes all fought for a bit of road space. It had been awhile since I had biked and even longer since I had biked in heavy traffic (the last time was in China), and the experience was a little unnerving. I'm claustrophobic and being enmeshed in such a chaotic mix of people and vehicles does overwhelm me at times. But Karen was clearly a veteran of these streets and I followed her expert lead without issue.

A few moments later we found ourselves on a dirt alleyway and Karen hopped off her bike. I followed suit and saw that the alleyway slanted downwards towards a small stand. Beyond that, I could glimpse the Bassac River. We stopped at the stand (which turned out to be the "ferry office") and paid the woman there thirteen cents each to cover our river crossing. Past the stand, we could see that the river level had risen so much (thanks to the rainy season) that the concrete ramp that normally led to the pier was completely submerged and wooden planks had been lashed onto a bamboo frame to precariously escort us from land to boat.

The boat itself was two wooden canoes that had also been lashed together side by side and wooden planks had been nailed across them to form a wide platform that made the entire thing look like a barge of some kind. We rolled our bikes onto the boat, waited for several more passengers, and then set off. I was now floating across a tributary of the very river I had seen from the plane, the Mekong. It was a beautiful view. From the middle of the river, I could see the shores of both Ta Khmau and Phum Champuh K'aek, alternating between swaths of green and the rust and reflections of corrugated tin dwellings. Farther up the river, where it turned around a bend, I could see the tall buildings of downtown Phnom Penh holding back the horizon. After the frantic activity of the road, it was incredibly quiet on the water and I basked in the silence and the feeling of being spread out against the wide open sky.

The bustle on the streets of Ta Khmau was even more frenzied than that of Phum Champuh K'aek. Phum Champuh K'aek felt much more suburban, or rural even, compared to Ta Khmau, which was decidedly urban. Real stores, not shops or stands, lined the roadways, along with restaurants, cafes, and hotels.

We stopped first at Lucky Supermarket to pick up a few essentials (I was thrilled to see that Cambodians also share my love for Mi Goreng instant noodles--there were so many varieties!). Then Karen took me to a funky little restaurant favored by expats called Spring, where I got to try a popular Cambodian dish, beef lok lak. I didn't have my camera with me, but below is a picture that is a pretty accurate representation of what my dinner looked like. Needless to say, it was as delicious as it looked.



By this time, it had started to grow dark. Being so close to the equator means the days are pretty much the same length all year round, and that means no long summer days filled with extra hours of sunshine. We hadn't brought headlamps, so Karen wanted to be sure that we made it back before it got much darker. Navigating the dark country road by the school, that had nothing in the way of street lamps, wouldn't be an ideal situation for two darkly-dressed cyclists.

I think I actually enjoyed our return ferry crossing more than the one that took us to Ta Khmau. Part of it had to do with the sky. The sun had set by the time we left the dock, and as we pulled out onto the river a thick swirl of grey clouds spun languidly above us. They were gently illuminated from behind and the whole effect made me feel as though I was looking up at the top of the world. Or situated in the eye of a storm.

Also on the way back, our little ferry was filled end to end with young monks who were returning from classes in Ta Khmau. The entire boat teemed with an ocean of orange cloth and neatly shaved heads. As Karen and I sat on the edge of the ferry speaking quietly to one another, one of the monks broke away from the group and approached us. He looked to be around 14 or 15 and smiled shyly at us as he approached.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

Surprised to hear English after being surrounded by Khmer for most of the afternoon, and even more so to hear it from this orange clad youth, I dumbly answered, "Ohio."

Karen, much more with it than I, clarified for him. "We're from the United States."

He lit up immediately and proceeded to tell us how he was taking English lessons in Ta Khmau and jumped at every opportunity he could to practice. He was thrilled to use his language skills, and with two native speakers no less! As we carried on our conversation, the other monks quieted down and watched the exchange with interest. We were the only two foreigners on the boat and I'm sure we made quite the pair: an older white lady with a head full of brilliant white hair and a lanky brown-skinned girl whose hair was as curly as Karen's was straight. There was no disguising the fact that we were the odd ones out.

When our conversation ended, Karen turned back to me to continue her running commentary about life on the river. She pointed out to me a few long wooden boats with roofs that arced over the middle. It looked like pieces of flexible metal had been bent into an upside down U and nailed down to the boats. She explained to me that these were the homes of Vietnamese river people who lived their entire lives on those small vessels. As we pulled alongside the dock on the other side of the river, we saw that one of these boats had docked nearby for the evening. Karen instructed me to take a quick look inside as we passed.

Under the small roofed section of the boat sat a young mother with her small child. There was one electric bulb that had been strung up which illuminated their tiny living area. From my quick glimpse, I could see piles and stacks of a variety of things, neatly tucked away to maximize living space. I even spotted a small circular clothes rack standing in the far back corner. I couldn't fathom living my entire life (with my family) in a space no larger than my walk-in closet.

The monks, Karen, and I streamed off the boat and began the short bike trip back to Liger. As we zipped past the long orange stream of monks walking home, a few of them waved and smiled. One of the most enjoyable things about being out and about here in Cambodia is the fact that nearly everyone will greet you with a smile and a cheery "hello", or "suostei". Cheesy as it may be, I find that there are few things in life that match the simple joy of going out in to the world smiling and having the whole world smile back.

You're never truly alone...but even more so in Cambodia

Living in a tropical locale almost always means drastically reorienting your relationship to wildlife of all shapes and sizes. After my brief stay in Honduras, I experienced a different meaning to “shared living space”. Not a moment passed that didn’t involve an encounter with an ant, gecko, or cockroach. No space was sacred. No space was safe. Most of the time it felt like it was I who was, in fact, the intruder, and it was their home that was being invaded.

If you’ve kept up with my blog over the years, you know that it was this “insect invasion” that partially factored in to my decision to leave Honduras after only two weeks. The mental and emotional trauma of waking up to walls and floors covered in cockroaches every day was just more than I could take. Now, perhaps this means I am weak and cowardly. Perhaps there are those of you who are not fazed at all by creepy crawlies and welcome their spindly legs scurrying across your countertop or cozying up to you in bed. To you, I have nothing to say. Except perhaps that we need to have a frank discussion about personal boundaries.

I am not an idiot. I knew that in agreeing to come to Cambodia, I was also implicitly agreeing to share my living space once again. But we humans are funny creatures. In spite of negative previous experiences, we somehow manage to convince ourselves, when confronted with another similar situation, that somehow it just won’t be as bad as before. How does that saying go? “Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, and expecting different results.” So yes, not an idiot. But definitely insane.

Granted, I had spent time in Malaysia and Thailand and hadn’t encountered any unpleasantness in the numerous hostels I had frequented, so part of me honestly believed that things wouldn’t be as bad as Honduras. And, to be fair, they aren’t. Mainly because I haven’t encountered a single flying cockroach. We do, however, have copious amounts of ants, several of whom have made it into my bed, a swarm of yet-to-be-identified flies, and several geckos. We also spotted a rather large spider on our living room wall this morning. But still, all of these things I could live with (though gingerly). The thing that has pushed me over the edge and given me endless anxiety is this guy:

In Cambodia, these lovely specimens go by the name “tokkae” (pronounced TOH-kay), and in addition to looking thoroughly unnerving, they also produce an ear-grating screech to ensure that your encounter with them is an unpleasant one.

I first came across one in our shower. Mercifully, I was not in the shower at the time. (I had simply poked my head around the partition to see how our fly population was faring that day.) Its sudden appearance in our shower literally took my breath away. I cautiously backed out of the bathroom and informed Kim that we had a brand new visitor, and no, this was not another cute gecko, but a beast of a whole different caliber.

Thankfully, a little later that day when I poked my head back around the shower partition, our tokkae had vanished. By this time, I had realized that the six squares in our shower wall that opened directly to the outside needed to be remedied, and quickly. Otherwise, we were going to have an endless parade of other guests marching around our apartment. And let’s be honest, the bathroom is the worst place to entertain wildlife. You’re most likely either naked or on the toilet and in no position to defend yourself well.

My plans to shore up our shower wall didn’t happen fast enough, however, because while I was taking care of business later that afternoon, I happened to glance up and there, right at the top of the wall, another brightly colored tokkae gleamed back at me. My eyes never left its wriggling body as I finished up and scurried out the door. This was getting out of hand quickly.

I reasoned that as long as I could keep said tokkae out of my bedroom, I could at least seek refugee there when it all just proved to be too much. Both Kim and I made sure to close our bedroom doors while we went to take care of pre-camp planning with some of the faculty and staff.  After a few hours of work and dinner, we headed back to the apartment, exhausted. It was only Day 2 and our jet lag was still in high gear.

I opened my bedroom door, tossed my backpack on my bed, and nearly choked on my heart which had relocated to my throat. There, on MY BEDROOM WALL was the tokkae!! This was too much. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep with that thing glowering at me with its beady eyes all night. Just, no. No, no, no. I considered for a moment how I could tactfully excuse myself from boot camp and hop on the first US-bound plane. Then I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed the broom, and prepared to wage war. The plan was to guide this tokkae out of my room (and hopefully back into the bathroom and out the window). But instead, he ended up darting into the space between the wall and my wardrobe.

At this point, it was clear reinforcements were needed. While I stood on my bed, broom in hand, I instructed Kim to run next door and grab Karen, another LLA faculty member who had naively offered to ask her for anything should we need it. She came right over and, after assessing the situation, headed straight to the science lab to get a giant net. With her skilled coaxing, we were able to capture the tokkae after several attempts and took him back outside. Then we proceeded to remove the netting from the catcher to cover up the openings in our shower.

Though shaken, I felt much better now that the tokkae was gone and all available entry points appeared to have now been sealed. However, I still passed a fitful night, jittery from the encounter and fearing that somewhere in the recesses of my room another tokkae still lurked.

By the morning, though, I was feeling considerably calmer and ready to tackle the first day of camp. What was one silly little lizard after all? I was a grown woman and I could handle it.  I opened my door to head to the bathroom and was immediately greeted by Kim who was already up and showered.

“There’s another tokkae in our bathroom,” she said, by way of greeting. “It’s on top of the door.”

I froze in my doorway. All thoughts of using the toilet instantly replaced by dread. I looked at her and in my head all I could think was: “I’m not freaking out. YOU’RE freaking out. I’m not freaking out, YOU’RE FREAKING OUT!!” How had this happened?!? I thought this situation had been handled. I had just barely regained some sense of inner tranquility and it had instantly been shattered.

I puttered around the kitchen for a moment, delaying the inevitable, silently building up the courage to go brush my teeth. It’s just a lizard, Amanda. Just a lizard. It can’t hurt you. You’re huge, it’s tiny. You got this. You GOT this. All you do is win, win, win no matter what!

I marched down the hallway, DJ Khaled shouting encouragement the whole way, and saw a tiny green head peeking over the top the door. Well, at least this one was noticeably smaller.

I hurried through my morning routine, relieved to be out of the bathroom in under five minutes. Unfortunately, my anxiety was still running amok as I got dressed and it was a struggle to manage a few bites of my granola bar.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door and Karen, the previous night’s savior, was there to announce that breakfast was being served. Kim was quick to inform her that our little apartment had been compromised yet again and Karen sprung into action. She secured another net from the science lab and headed to the bathroom to scoop up the miscreant. Much to our dismay, however, he was nowhere to be found. Karen left the net with us and assured us that she would come back and catch it should it reappear.

And that is currently where the situation stands. Somewhere in our humble abode, a tokkae lurks. I am not foolish enough to think that he took the hint and departed. And so we wait, not knowing when or how or where he will make his presence known.  I wonder how easily one can acquire Xanax here…

First days in Phnom Penh

For it being the rainy season, the sky was surprisingly clear as we began our descent into Phnom Penh. I had expected to be greeted by a torrential downpour. But instead the sun shone down fiercely on rectangular patches of green and brown, and on the wide, milky brown river slowly winding its way past tiny houses with roofs of orange and bright blue. Occasionally, I caught sight of a tall, ornately adorned building which I took to be a temple of some kind. After roughly 3 months of planning and preparing, and nearly a day’s worth of travel, we had finally arrived in Cambodia. 

Kim, a recent Princeton grad, and I will be spending the next two weeks at the Liger Leadership Academy (LLA) teaching in the school’s first-ever SAT boot camp. LLA is quite a young school (it opened in 2012) and will be graduating its first class in 2020. To ensure that as many of them as possible are well prepared for admission to an American university, the administration thought it prudent to devote a couple weeks specifically to SAT prep.

After taking time to review LLA’s mission statement and goals, I knew that this was an organization that I wanted to be involved with. The school’s mission statement reads as follows: “Liger Leadership Academy educates promising youth of today to develop socially conscious, entrepreneurial leaders of tomorrow. We provide a residential scholarship program for economically disadvantaged students that combines a comprehensive, internationally competitive education with an innovative STEM and entrepreneurship curriculum. Liger believes a meaningful investment in the right few will change the lives of many.” LLA believes in empowering their students so that they are able to go out and have a profound impact on the future of their country, instead of leaving it in the hands of others. Needless to say, I am thrilled at the opportunity to work with such an organization.

We made our way through Customs & Immigration easily and were pleased to see that both of our bags had arrived without incident. Outside we were met by Jeff and Caroline, both veterans of LLA, who had also just landed in Phnom Penh after spending the summer at home in the states. The heat and humidity was palpable as we introduced ourselves and waited for Sotia, our driver, to come collect us.

With great skill and some squishing, we managed to cram all five of us and our suitcases into Sotia’s crossover and began our trek through downtown Phnom Penh to LLA. We got our first glimpses of Cambodia as we inched our way through the downtown traffic. Having spent time in various developing countries, I began to note the commonalities between Cambodia and other places I had visited and lived. Here was the frantic, jumbled mix of cars, mopeds, and motorcycles vying for road space. Here was the precarious, yet impressive, balance acting that consisted of multiple humans (and multiple packages) situated on one motorbike. Here were the dusty roadside stands selling street food and knock-off brand backpacks. Here were the equally dusty storefronts where shirtless toddlers scrambled about and elderly women sat stoically by their bottles of shampoo and racks of polyester clothing carefully covered in plastic. In some ways, I could easily have been back in Ecuador or Honduras or Thailand.

After thirty minutes or so, we bumped our way through a small gateway and found ourselves on the grounds of LLA. The school’s campus is situated just outside of Phnom Penh on a beautifully lush and secluded plot of land. All of the clamor of downtown had faded away and was now replaced by the screeches and caws of the birds and lizards nestled in the foliage. Branches with large pink and red flowers arced over our heads as Caroline led us down the walkway to the two-bedroom apartment where Kim and I would be staying. We were impressed to hear that the apartment had actually been designed by the students. LLA values project and experiential based learning and the students are continuously creating, designing and building.

Once we had dropped off our bags, Caroline gave us a quick tour of the campus. It was only Saturday and the camp didn’t begin until Monday, so the school was more or less empty. We were shown the main building (which houses all of the classrooms and offices), the swimming pool, the sports court, the soccer field, and the large colorful buildings that housed the Junior and Senior students. The Senior apartments were of particular interest to me because the students are completely self-sufficient. They are allowed to eat lunch in the dining hall, but they are responsible for cooking all of their other meals. They are also expected to maintain their own living spaces and do their own laundry.

By this point, my initial “arrival high” was quickly being replaced by overwhelming jet lag. The rest of the day passed in a blur of exhaustion and feeble attempts to stay awake until the clock read an acceptable bedtime. (Needless to say, both Kim and I failed to meet said acceptable bedtime.)

And now, two days later, here we are on our first day of camp. We had an assembly this morning to greet all 51 (of our very enthusiastic) students and immediately kicked things off with a practice SAT (which was met with far less enthusiasm). This afternoon, Kim and I will have an hour of icebreakers and introductions with the students, and I look forward to learning more about each of them. I can tell that the students here are well-loved and love their school in return. As a teacher, one of the greatest gifts is students who come into your classroom eager and excited to learn. I have a feeling I’m going to be quite spoiled by the end of this experience.

Teaching the teacher: The China underneath

Every Friday I sit down with sixteen different students and listen to them talk. 

One by one, they sit across from me in the bright orange felt chair and, for ten minutes, they tell me something. Depending on the week's topic, it may be the value of historical sites or the difference in eating habits between men and women.

They talk, and I listen. It serves as part of their preparation for the speaking portion of the IELTS (International English Language Testing Sytem). My job is to correct their grammar, pronunciation, vocabulary and coherence so that they can achieve a highly coveted 5.5 or higher on their exam.

At the outset, I had my reservations about this arrangement. Other ESL teachers will surely back me up when I say that speaking assessments can be incredibly tedious. There are few things quite as mind-numbing as sitting through an endless succession of students who have failed to grasp the concept of subject-verb agreement or the basic tenets of syntax. While I was happy to have a Friday morning free of classroom teaching, I wasn't sure that this was an improvement.

Up to this point, much of what I had learned about China (and subsequently written about on this blog) had come from my everyday encounters--on the bus, at the store, dining out, etc. I don't really have any Chinese friends to speak of (just brief, cordial encounters with my Chinese co-workers), so my knowledge of China and Chinese culture has been limited. Unlike in Ecuador where I was living with an Ecuadorean family and engaging in their culture on a very personal level, my engagement here has been largely confined to superficial social exchanges and observations.

Then March rolled around. The new semester started, I was assigned speaking assessments, and my students started talking. 

I remember sinking into my teal felt chair (to complement the bright orange one, of course) on that first Friday of the semester, trying to determine how quickly I could speed through the questions without raising eyebrows. The topic was family that week--an easy enough topic to kick things off with--and the first few students sped by in a unremarkable blur of incorrect verb tenses and canned responses ("I have a mom and a dad." "My older brother is nice." "I have a small family.") The next student took their seat, a girl this time, and I began to work my way through the questions. 

Here we go...

"How many people are in your family?"

"I have four people in my family."

"Okay, can you be more specific?"

"In my family, there is a mom, a dad, me, and my little brother."

I mindlessly checked off the question and robotically continued. "Great. Alright, next ques--"

"Wait. Well...actually...there are five people."

I'm not sure whether to be interested, or concerned with her counting skills. Let's go with interested. 

"Oh?"

"I had a twin. When I was born, there were two of us. But--but they killed my sister because there could only be one."

"....." 

I know I did not just hear what I think I heard. Right?!? Because if I did how do I even begin to address this? Perhaps she's mistaken or chose the wrong word. But which word could you possibly confuse with killed?

While I scrambled to find an appropriate, teacher-ly response that was both compassionate and not overly alarmed, she continued, "They chose me so I feel very lucky."

Words finally began to form. ".....they--they what? That is...I mean...you had a twin? That's so terrible. How, uh, how old are you?" 

"Sixteen."

I unsuccessfully tried to subtract the years to determine at just what time in recent Chinese history it was either okay or mandatory to kill one of your baby girls to meet government requirements. (It was unnecessary--it still is.)

I found my words again. "I'm so sorry. How awful."

"It's okay. I have a little brother now."

I spent the rest of her ten minutes in a daze--her hesitant English tapping an uneven rhythm against my eardrums but not quite breaking through. 

Although she had spoken of the incident almost casually--her eyes reflected astonishment. As though even she, sixteen years later, still couldn't quite comprehend the pain caused by the loss of her sister just moments after drawing her first breath.

I, like most Westerners, was aware of China's one-child policy long before coming to this country. Yet somehow, I had foolishly convinced myself it had long since been confined to a questionable past. An archaic law that perhaps had affected my students' parents, but certainly not the Taylor Swift-loving adolescent sitting across from me.

As the weeks have passed and our Friday conversations have continued, bits and pieces of the China "underneath" have continued to fnd a voice in my students. 

I listened as one student told me her grandmother's success story. How she left her small village as a teenager, the same age as my student, to work 14 hours a day in a factory to support herself and then continued on to become a street vendor and finally own her own business. 

I listened to another tell me of how she was born and raised in Hungary until she was 8 and how she can speak Hungarian, Mandarin and English and how she still goes "home" most summers.

I listened to students explain dejectedly how they see their parents only twice a year or how their mothers and fathers live in cities on opposite sides of China.

I listened to a student recount how she came out to her friends and instead of facing the standard rejection and humiliation typical of Chinese society, was embraced and supported. 

I listened to students jokingly admit how Chinese people will eat anything and everything, but don't trust the integrity of much of the food produced here.

I listened to them describe their ideal family, one where "the children see their parents and everyone loves each other." Or how, perhaps, it is best to be an only child because then your parents might love you more. 

With each, subsequent Friday, my initial apprehension of these speaking sessions has given way to an intense curiosity and eagerness to learn. Unwittingly, my students have morphed into my teachers--each week expounding through story on culture, history, politics, and social norms. Each week peeling back the layers of China so that, for ten minutes, I can peek at what rests beneath. 

My days here--these Friday "lessons"--are fast dwindling and it would be a shame to leave this country knowing only what I've learned from my time on the surface. So as I show students how to form the "th" sound and explain the difference between experiment and experience and remind them to say learn about and not learn on, I also listen.

Time-traveling through Beijing

A journey that commences with illness usually ends in disaster.

This, I know.

Yet somehow, despite a concerted effort to stay well, I contracted a virus mere days before taking off for Beijing. And found myself, instead of joyfully preparing for my three days in the capital, dreading the wear and tear of travel that would no doubt compound my symptoms.

I longed to feel the rush of travel-induced adrenaline at the thought of trekking across the Great Wall or stepping foot in Tienanmen Square. But, honestly, my virus-weary body simply shuddered at the amount of effort it was all going to take.

Still, I couldn't bear the thought of tossing away hundreds of dollars and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to spend the weekend convalescing in bed. So Friday afternoon, with bags packed, Ibuprofen at the ready and feeling slightly better than I had been, I made my way north.

Now, I can count on one hand the amount of times I have had a “smooth” trip when traveling. By smooth I mean everything happens travel-wise that is supposed to. My flights departed on time and arrived on time. My airport pick-up was waiting for me, sign in hand, at the arrivals gate. My room was ready and well-heated (and complete with considerate roomies). I have no doubt that a certain Someone was well aware of my current state and knew I was just one 2-hour delay away from a complete meltdown.

Prior to my trip, I had purchased a pack of face masks to combat the heavy pollution of Beijing, very much expecting scenes like this:

It was 8RMB poorly spent.

Saturday morning dawned clear and sunny. This (and the fact that most of my symptoms had beat a hasty retreat overnight) immediately brought out my wanderlust in full force. Braced with a cup of coffee and a ticking clock on my brief stay, I made my way to my first stop: Tienanmen Square.

If you've followed this blog for any period of time, you'll know that I've traveled to my fair share of historical landmarks. So I can't say why Tienanmen Square had the effect on me that it did. Surely, the sheer size of it took me aback. But I just remember instantly feeling displaced the moment I set foot in the square. It was like somehow history had clawed its way from the past, knocking aside the unsuspecting present, to spread itself out before me.

Perhaps it was the fact that the Tienanmen Square massacre happened in 1989 and not 1889--a history that overlaps with my own short life. It's an event that was always in the last chapter or two of our high school World History book. You know the chapters I mean. When "the last decade" makes that jarring shift to "last year" and your superficial high school self is suddenly eclipsed by your own mortality.

Perhaps it was the uniformed officers spaced strategically throughout the square. Or the fact that the entire event has been so meticulously swept from the Chinese consciousness that, really, it could've been last month, couldn't it? That just weeks ago protesters were clamoring for a China much different from than the one I currently live in.

Whatever the case, Tienanmen Square marked me. Even as the day passed, I couldn't shake the sense of loss that made the air over the square hang just that much heavier.

This rather stark welcome to Beijing made the shift from Tienanmen Square to the Forbidden City that much more jolting. I passed through the Gate of Heavenly Peace and under Mao's imposing visage and leapt from 1989 to 1420. Suddenly, there I was in a piece of beautifully preserved ancient China. It was surreal in the sense that I felt like I was on a set of a film about ancient China and not in actuality walking through archways and strolling through gardens that had once been the home of emperors.

I foolishly did not take the name Forbidden City literally. After wandering for what seemed like hours, I was astonished to find I had only seen about a quarter of the grounds. Thankfully, much of the city is laid out in similar patterns with similar architecture, so although there was a fair amount that I did not see, I did feel as though I was able to get the full Forbidden City experience. (For those of you considering a trip here, give yourself a full day if you have your heart set on seeing everything.)

The evening was spent time-traveling yet again. This time to 2008 to experience Beijing's Olympic Park. Myself and Janina (a new friend from Xiamen) arrived just after sunset as the Water Cube, Bird's Nest, Ling Long Pagoda, and Observation Tower all began their glowing, technicolor transformations. I was instantly pleased that I had decided to come to the park at night instead of midday. The entire area was so much more spectacular when lit. And to make things even more memorable, we passed several groups of middle-aged and elderly men and women taking part in what seemed to be an entertaining blend of tai chi and dance aerobics (see video).

Water Cube (Any guesses as to when Beijing is hosting the next Olympics?)

Ling Long Pagoda

Observation Tower

After a rather disappointing lunch of overly-oiled noodles earlier in the day, I was determined to do better for dinner. Using my hostel-provided map, Janina and I made our way to Wangfujing to experience some of Beijing's night market street food. The map stated that "closing time" for this area was 9pm. When we arrived shortly before that, I was expecting to see thinning crowds and lowering windows.

The map was wrong.

The night market was in full swing. Actually, once I saw the mass of bodies impossibly pressed into the narrow stretches of alleyway, part of me did wish for thinning crowds and lowered windows.

Entering a market, particularly a crowded one, is always a swift punch to the senses. Suddenly air and space are things to be fought for and it seems as though every sense is being more bombarded than the next.

...Oh man, is that stinky tofu or durian I'm smelling? Ah, nope, durian. Definitely, durian...Wait, what is that?! Are those live scorpions? On a skewer?? Wonder what it tastes like though...Really? Did you not just see me standing here? Yes. Yes, that arm is attached to a body...That looks delicious! Do you know what it is? I don't care, I'm totally coming back to get one....

And in this manner you weave your way through endless stalls. Stopping often, drooling frequently and buying little because obviously you can't buy this until you've seen everything else. There might be something even better at the next stall!

Sunday I devoted entirely to the Great Wall.  I knew from speaking to other travelers that, thanks to the unceasing flow of traffic, it generally takes between 2-3 hours to get there and then a few more hours to enjoy the wall and then another 2-3 hours for the the return to Beijing. I decided to book a tour with my hostel, Leo Hostel. They promised a trip to a "secret," relatively tourist-free part of the wall, complete with original, un-renovated sections. It was money well spent.

Now for those of you who recall my climb up Pichincha, you'll remember that a large part of my hiking troubles were due to the weather. The drastic temperature drop at 15,000 feet above sea level and my lack of warm clothing resulted in a miserable final push up the volcano.

Lucky for me, Sunday also dawned sunny and crystal clear. Absolutely ideal weather for a trip to the Great Wall. However, as soon as our bus pulled into the parking lot 2 1/2 hours later, we unceremoniously tumbled out into an arctic blast of 35mph wind. My mind instantly flashed to images of me, wind-battered and numb, clinging for dear life to Pichincha's craggy peak. This could not be happening again. Janina, who had gone to the wall only the day before, had reported pleasant temperatures and little wind to speak of. Where on earth had this icy windstorm blown in from? I irritably threw on my extra knit sweater, pulled up my hood and made my way to the base of the wall, bemoaning my misfortune all the way.

As it happens with most tour groups, the sixteen of us all exchanged perfunctory greetings to give each other the once over. Then, with judgments cast, coalesced into smaller factions to complete the hike. I ended up in a group with three Australians--the only other people in the group who seemed to actually want to hike the wall and not just take the requisite picture and spend the rest of the time texting in the cafe.

The four of us ended up doing a six kilometer hike in total. Now, I know all of you adventurists out there are probably chuckling under your breath at the incredible brevity of our hike. In our defense, it consisted almost entirely of up hill trekking (up stairs!) and we were being continually buffeted by gale force winds. I'm talking, I-was-physically-blown-over-several-times-by-the-wind gale force winds. And to add to the madness, once we reached the final watchtower on the renovated part of the wall, we thought it'd be fun to scramble up the next mountainside where the wall had decayed to little more than a slash of crumbled stones.

All complaints aside, though, it was an absolutely beautiful experience. One that truly cannot come more highly recommended. My hostel had lived up to its word and we encountered few other people as we climbed--leaving us completely alone to enjoy the mountains rolling away from us in all directions and the wall snaking ever-steadily before us. Even after we had hiked to that final watchtower, the wall in all of its desolated splendor continued on until it collided with the horizon and then disappeared from view.

My fingers were quite thoroughly frozen by the end of our little trek

It was difficult trying to plan my final hours in Beijing after that experience. What tops the Great Wall? And what can you squeeze into 4 1/2 hours on a Monday morning before you have to take off for the airport? I nixed a trip to the Summer Palace seeing that it was too far to risk a trip there and back in time. The Temple of Heaven was close, as was Jingshan Park. One of my new Aussie friends, however, seemed unimpressed with the Temple of Heaven, so that left Jingshan Park with its reputed bird's eye view of Beijing and the Forbidden City.

Monday was decidedly colder than Saturday or Sunday and even with my sweater and sweatshirt, I found myself (again) wishing for more layers. My legs had also fully realized what I had done to them the day before and as I walked to the subway they began vigorously protesting. My ankles also joined in the fun. By the time I exited the subway I was wincing with each step. This was helped little by the fact that I didn't actually know how to get to Jingshan Park. I had a general idea that it was north of the Forbidden City and that was about it.

After wandering up and down the same sidewalk a couple times looking for some clue as to where the park might be, I finally ran into a nice older gentleman (he clearly pitied the disoriented, hobbling foreigner) who set me on the right path.

By the time I actually arrived at Jingshan Park, I was in pain and painfully behind schedule. Wasted legs, meet stairs to the pavilions. Stairs, meet legs. Silly me. Of course a bird's eye view at the top of a hill meant climbing.

Yet, as with the Great Wall, the hike was well worth every creak and twinge as I climbed. From the topmost pavilion, I had a complete 360 degree view of Beijing.

Seeing the Forbidden City from this vantage point I was once again struck by its immensity. It's shimmering golden rooftops seemed to stretch out for miles. I could easily see why the emperors had often frequented this place in their leisure time or to host their imperial goings-on. Jingshan is actually technically part of the Forbidden City as it was the soil excavated from the moats of the Imperial Palace that created the artificial hills on which the pavilions stand.

Topmost pavilion at Jingshan Park

Sadly, my time in the park ended up being quite short as I still had to hoof it 2,000 meters back to the subway station, return to my hostel, grab my things, and catch the train to the airport.

Looking back on my brief stay in China's capital, (particularly my chaotic race around Beijing on Monday) I definitely wish that I'd had an extra day of exploration. I can't say when or if I'll ever return and I feel like in my haste to do as much as I could, I didn't have much time to do what I like best--wander. My hostel was located in a lovely little hutong and I wanted nothing more than to spend an afternoon strolling around its maze-like corridors.

For those of you considering your own trip to Beijing, I would highly recommend each of the attractions I went to, in addition to the Summer Palace (it was well reviewed by all of the other travelers I met). With its particular synergy of past and present, Beijing is the perfect place for a little time-traveling.

More pictures can be found here and if you'd like to see video clips of each of the places I visited (and live scorpions on skewers!), check out the video below.