Teaching English, part II

My second foray into teaching English did not last long. Just three days. I didn't even give the school any notice, but they were kind enough perhaps because I was apologetic enough. I even got paid for the whopping six hours I put in before reaching my limit. I don't want to be a teacher anymore. That is no surprise. I've said it before and nothing has changed.

16 months had passed since I had worn my teaching attire, which was stored all of this time at a friend's home in Saigon. I didn't like any of it anymore. It reminded me of the past and I like a clear distinction between events in my life. But I thought I could do it again in a new city, in a new school. Pump myself up, pretend like this is what I wanted to do until I found something better. Get the ball rolling and some money in the door.

It is too hard to pretend. I pretended too much the last time and I couldn't exist as a fraud any longer. Besides, I got tired telling people I was an English Teacher. Embarrassed to say it. Embarrassed with myself for letting it get so out of hand that I'm about to lose my shit in front of a bunch of eight year old kids. I'd rather do almost anything else. I need change more than I need money.

Before the second foray began, I stopped in at language centers, sent off my CV to various international schools, brought a briefcase, an iron and a small ironing board. I had an interview with one center that seemed to go well. They hired me part-time. I had an interview with another school and proceeded to cancel the demo class they had scheduled the next day. Too much anxiety. Besides, I didn't really want to teach thirteen year olds and high school seniors. Couldn't imagine anything worse, in fact.

I started teaching at the language center. It was a popular center and paid alright, but not great. I was teaching kids and I had two levels in each class, which made things more difficult than they ought to be, but not overwhelming. The kids were fine for the most part. Part cute, part annoying. The staff at the school were also fine from what I could tell. I was not fine.

And so, as the anxiety built and I was less able to accomplish anything during the day while waiting for the two hours of class to begin, I decided to call it quits and once that phone call was made, I felt amazing. Like some tiger balm on a mosquito bite. Relief. The right decision was made. Abso-freaking-lutely. And since then, less than four days later, I've received two more calls for interviews, almost like a test to see if I'm sure. I am positive.

So, I am unemployed again, but not worried. I am determined to do something different even if it means being the first foreign tuk tuk driver in Phnom Penh. Let's hope it doesn't get to that. In the meantime, I am enjoying my new found freedom, but looking forward to longer workdays and bigger paychecks in the near future.

My ass hates hard wooden chairs

Well, it clearly wasn’t meant to be yet I still forced the issue. I decided I wanted some kind of ice-blended concoction, some kind of chilled deliciousness in an air-conditioned environment. It was already 4pm and not really time for a coffee, but I wanted an excuse to leave my apartment. Get out and pretend like I did something today.  Partake in something heavenly without actually dying to get there. Partake in something orgasmic without having to take a shower afterwards.

So I went to Gloria Jeans. The picture in the latest issue of Out & About in Phnom Penh caught my eye. Advertising does work. But it was too crowded and only a tiny table with a hard wooden chair remained. Fuck that. So, I went to Café Fresco, nearly around the corner, but I was neither thrilled with the atmosphere nor the price. I got back on my motorbike.

Next, I went to The Blue Pumpkin. I hadn’t been to this location, however I knew they served up ample portions for a reasonable price. However, it was too crowded and again, only hard wooden seats remained. Fuck that. I walked out secretly thinking someone was watching this ridiculous affair. Next I went to Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. The prices offended me. $3.80 for a regular frappe? I couldn’t open my wallet for that and so I left again near tears.

After driving around a bit more, something clanking in the underbelly of my aging motorbike, I opted for Tous Les Jours on Sihanouk Boulevard. And of course, they didn’t even have ice-blended drinks on the menu. Embarrassed to walk out again, I just settled for an iced choco, something I had no interest in consuming and then I found out the wifi wasn’t even working. A big LOL all around.

Sometimes I know when I shouldn’t be doing something yet I keep on keeping on. I should have known when I ran out of gas a block from the first coffee shop. That was the first sign that this little outing should never have been undertaken. Truth be told, if I wasn’t like Goldilocks and just settled for the hard wooden chair, this story would have had a far different ending. Oh well.

It is almost time to get back to my new apartment and go for a run. I love the location, right between the Royal Palace and the Independence Monument. Close to two parks and the riverside, very convenient for a quick run in the early morning or early evening. My new place is also reasonably close to my gym and the language center where I find myself working in the evenings during the week. Teaching – joy to the world. I will find something else, I keep telling myself.

There are “international” schools everywhere in Phnom Penh. The salary is significantly less than in Vietnam, however this city seems far more livable in a way I don’t know if I can explain. It’s less crowded, but there is plenty to do. There is far less noise and far fewer people staring and therefore, causing less agitation. In Vietnam, it seemed that most expats were teachers. Here, it seems there are people doing a bit of everything.

There are a lot of cars on the road here. On my ride home from the gym the other day, I saw minivans from school after school after school. American Intercon, Modern International School, Beltei University, Home of English, it's like a prerequisite to having a school. You had to have a minivan to shuttle your students from location to location. I had an interview with one of the aforementioned schools and a subsequent demo lesson, but I bailed on the lesson the day it was scheduled. I just couldn’t bare the thought of teaching full-time and it caused too much anxiety over a short period of time.

The Vegetarian is around the corner from my house. I’ve had the displeasure of eating there on two occasions. I regrettably gave it a second chance and was disappointed again. The two worst meals I’ve eaten since arriving in Phnom Penh. Shame on them. Sadly, that has previously been the case in other restaurants only offering up vegetarian fare. You think they’d be so good at it since it’s their specialty, but I’ve experienced otherwise. Not to mention the uppity attitude.

I took a swing dancing class the other night. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a dancing class before of any kind. I’d probably prefer a hip hop class just to learn some cool moves, but I’d probably hurt myself. I was just one of two men and there were about four times as many women putting me on the spot on numerous occasions, showing over and over that I wasn’t getting it. It took a minute to get over the initial anxiety. I’m glad I’m doing stuff like this, but it’s hard to commit to doing anything regularly. I don’t think swing dancing is going to be one of my hobbies.

Five teenage girls bordering on legality have just taken over a table in this café. They are celebrating a birthday and each playing with their respective iPhone or iPad, taking pictures of themselves making the silly faces their age group is so well known for. It’s strange how taking self-portraits is so common here even when you have a friend who could take a better picture and make the situation look less awkward. Maybe I’m the only one self-conscious about it.

No More Mr. Nice Guy

If you came here looking for Alice Cooper, you are in the wrong place. Let me redirect you here. You're welcome.

This post is about trying to do the right thing, but having things get turned around which make you look like a dick.  Receiving a negative response to your good intentions, which only makes you question having such intentions the next time. Makes you rethink your niceness. Trying to be Mr. Nie Guy, but not getting recognition for doing so. In case you are still not sure what I'm getting it, let me give you a few examples.

You see a traffic accident. One motorbike hits another and the person goes down. The guilty party drives away as if nothing happened. Being a human being, you are naturally concerned and stop to see if the person is ok. Soon others arrive and begin pointing at you for causing the accident. What?! Being in a foreign country and with limited ability to speak the local language to help defuse the situation, you quickly remount your motorbike and skedaddle on out of there. Fuck that bullshit.

This next example also presumes you are in a foreign country and can speak little of the local language.

The cashier gives you your change, a bit too much by the looks of it. Instead of scampering out of there congratulating yourself for this little victory over the big guys you realize that reality suggests otherwise. It's a mini-mart after all, probably locally owned and the girl behind the counter will likely get blamed for the mistake. So you proceed to "tell" her that she gave you too much, but she thinks you think you were shortchanged and this prolonged interaction makes everyone waiting in line think you are an asshole.

Ok, back to my most recent story and last example.

I was checking out of my guesthouse a couple weeks ago and the guy was tallying my bill. Two nights at $10 a night, a Greek salad for $3 and breakfast for $3, which should have been $26. His total was $23. Considering they would be storing my bags for the next ten days and the fact I believe in karma, I told him that he had forgotten my breakfast. I gave him a fifty and he gave me $23 change. 50 minus 23 equals 27. Wait...now you are trying to overcharge me?? I'm trying to honest not generous.

So, I tell him I had the build-your-own-breakfast, but he corrects me and says that I had the breakfast special. Getting slightly irritated now, I grab the menu and show him what I had. There it is, three dollars. Build-your-own-breakfast. He shakes his head. Did you see bacon or sausage on my plate? He reluctantly hands back a dollar. Fuck you, penis wrinkle. I'm not playing this game. Enough of this nonsense. Trying to do good, but feeling bad. Next time, I'll quietly thank them for their miscalculation and spend or give the surplus to people I feel who deserve it. 

Deep thoughts...

If my neighbor had a long range camera and had nothing better to do, I would have just been caught digging for gold. I think everyone picks their nose, kind of like masturbation, but there will always be some who deny it. Liars! Both, in my opinion, should be done in private and next time, I ought to make sure I'm not visible before I start picking my nose and eating it.

I wish I could tell my new landlord the reason my water use is so high is because his toilet doesn't know what to do with brown trout. I don't want to look at it so I'm going to keep pressing the handle until it swims downstream.

I know it's generally not advisable to pick at a mole with a sewing needle, especially an unsterilized one, but my dermatologist wasn't here to tell me otherwise. So, it wasn't really a mole, just the scar of a mole that had been treated by laser, but the brown stuff was growing back and I do not like the brown stuff. I pricked at the brown 'veins' until they bled and then scratched them off. Add antibiotic ointment, cover with a bandaid and voila! Well, we'll see about that.

My heart tells me I don't want to be a teacher again, not really ever. But my wallet is saying that maybe I should put up with it for a few months to look for something better and regain some cash. However, it is really hard for me to walk into a language center or send off my CV to an international school and pretend to want to work for them. I see other people living here who I can tell are teachers just based on the way they are dressed and I sigh and think I don't want to be that guy!

The problem with having a fridge is I tend to eat what's in there. When I never had food at home, it was far easier to control my appetite. Hungry? Go out and eat. Plenty of cheap, delicious options there are on the street or in restaurants here in Cambodia. But now? Open fridge and eat. Oops, I wasn't hungry. Repeat. Sigh, I need a job. You can say that again.

The problem with having wifi at home is that I'm starting to post stupid shit on Facebook again. I normally try to avoid that. There is an abundance of garbage already present that I don't need to make my own contribution, but without proper social outlets in my newly adopted city, I suppose I just don't know what else to do. Stop typing in the status update box!

You know those door handles that require two turns to the left with the key in order to lock it? One click, two clicks and then you hit "a wall" on the third attempt and have to go back and remove the key. Ever try and turn in three times every single time, just in case? Because maybe it's not completely locked that one time and if you don't check someone will break in and steal everything.

Why are some people so goddamn inconsiderate? I mean, I live in a densely packed neighborhood and there is some asshole pumping his tunes with considerable bass at 11:45pm. Ok, ok, it's Friday night, we should all be preparing to go out and hit the clubs, but the world ain't like that. Someone should go trace the source of the music and smash the stereo over his fucking head. You dumb inconsiderate cunt.

Somebody stole my helmet today. Fucker! I knew that was going to happen, but I refuse to carry the thing with me wherever I go. I guess it's going to happen again then. I want a cheap Vietnamese helmet, the kind that offers little protection in an accident, but won't get stolen and the police won't pester me for a bribe. I do want to protect my noggin, but not with one of the ridiculously big full-faced helmets that most people wear over here.

I have to say 'No' next time the papaya salad girl asks "spicy?" I reply "just a teeny weeny bit" while squeezing my thumb and pointy finger as close as they can get without actually touching. And then my mouth is on fire. How many times do I have to try and get it with just a little spice before I give up?

Man, these Cambodian police are persistent! Third time I've been pulled over and yes, I was in the wrong again. This time I turned into a street that said "do not enter" but there was no logical reason for it to be there so I went ahead anyway. I'm getting tired of the harassment. They only wanted 5000 riel ($1.25) but I still refused and told them I didn't have any money. I am a dick, for sure. Again, after a little whining and no indication that I was reaching for my wallet anytime soon, they let me go.

Short stories from the Kingdom of Wonder

The police: part II

The other day, my first day of house hunting, I was following a pair of real estate agents down Monivong. I was not wearing a helmet because a) my helmet was too small and b) I did not anticipate leaving the Riverside area. There were plenty of cops along this route and I knew it was going to be a matter of time before they'd nab me. At one intersection, I saw the police waiting and decided to attempt evasion by turning right. Wrong! It was a one way street so I wavered right and then reluctantly decided to continue on my forward path as I had no other options.

The cop jumped out into the street waving his baton and blowing his whistle. Yeah, yeah. I pulled over and he told me I had run a red light. Yeah yeah. Then he told me I wasn't wearing a helmet. Yeah yeah. And then he looked at my bike and noticed it's Vietnam origin. Yeah yeah. I told the cop I had been following the real estate agents, who had stopped up ahead. And I told him I had a helmet back at my hotel, but it was too small, perhaps hoping for a little sympathy. One of the guys ahead came back to talk to the cop. 

At one point, when the cop was seemingly preoccupied with something happening further down the street, the agent whispered to me "Just go" and I hopped back onto my bike and started it up quickly, but the cop was only steps away and immediately blocked my route of intended departure. There was more conversation between the two men. The agent suggested giving him a dollar so that's what I did and the cop sort of looked at me like that's all you got and waved me on. Ridiculous! Running a red light, not wearing a helmet, having an unregistered bike, not having a license, which he didn't even ask for and I attempted to avoid "arrest." Welcome to Cambodia.

Budget guesthouses

I had stayed at the Longlin II Guesthouse before so I knew what to expect. I had few expectations actually, namely a bed that looked clean, a lock on the door, wifi and a hot shower. Ten bucks doesn't go very far. As a guest staying for more than one night, I also expected my room to get cleaned, but didn't need daily service. The morning after my second night I asked the guy to have my room cleaned. I came back later and it still wasn't. I left again about noon and asked them to clean the room. I came back later in the afternoon and apparently it had gone in one ear and out the other. By now the maid had gone home, but I still had the guy come up, fluff the pillows and take out the trash. 

I don't mind that the sink drains slowly. Or that they never give me soap. Or that key constantly falls off the beat down key ring. The bed is pretty comfortable, I'm sleeping well for me and the wifi has been pretty reliable. The next morning I again ask for my room to be cleaned. Surprise, surprise, it wasn't. And again it's too late to have anyone do it. So I just request new towels and some soap. They delivered. The next day, I ask again. And finally I got what I asked for. She took out my collection of water bottles, mopped around my collection of luggage and changed the sheets, which have unfortunately been laid upon by me. She even gave me a chair. 

Today, I decided to eat lunch at my guesthouse. Not having much in the way of vegetarian fare, I opted for the vegetarian burger. Thirty minutes later, it still hadn't arrived and I was getting irritable. I asked again and it seemed like my order had been forgotten. I moaned that I should just go next door to eat and that the wifi was slow in the downstairs area. He didn't seem to care. I decided to stay and wait it out in the end and the food was actually good once delivered. I could go on and on about this place, but I'll leave it at that. Nice kids, but they really don't know what they're doing.

Random shit

A real estate agent called me the other day to make an appointment to see a house. Meet me at 3pm on Street 390. Ok, what's the cross street? Street 390. No, on the corner of what street? Street 390. There are two streets! What are they? 3pm on Street 390. Eventually I hung up and waited until I was out of the sun and in a quieter place to finish the conversation. By that time she realized what I was asking. It was Street 143, in case you were wondering...

I pulled up to red light this morning to an painfully slow countdown. 39. 38. 37. 36 seconds with the sun in my face and my motorbike noisily idling with me wondering if its demise will eventually come in a situation like this. I look to my left and see the vehicle's driver picking his nose. One finger deep in his left nostril. He eventually removes it and wipes the goods on the floor. Then it was time for the right nostril. It was an action that required approximately thirty seconds to increase the flow of oxygen to his lungs. His windows weren't tinted, there was no shame and there I was, staring at him for thirty seconds trying to make him uncomfortable. I don't think he noticed and if he did, he certainly didn't care...

Walking down to the river this evening to the happy pizza restaurants, I was asked numerous times for Tuk tuk? Motorbike? Marijuana? And even the less common Opium? But when I finally got home, I realized that nobody had offered me boom boom. That's a rare occasion. Maybe Cambodia is different? I'm pretty sure it's a nightly occurrence, maybe all the hookers were busy...

A place to call home

I've been looking for a place to live the past few days thanks to postings and advice from Khmer440, Expat Advisory, friendly tuk tuk drivers and some random real estate agents I found on the net. I'm not driving around looking for signs, that's for sure. So far, I think I've seen at least a dozen places and as usual, I'm less than satisfied with all of them. Of course, if I increased the amount I was willing to spend, I'm sure I wouldn't find myself in the all-too-familiar predicament of not being able to make a decision. You get what you fucking pay for!

A few days ago, upon arriving in Phnom Penh as a resident rather than my usual tourist status, I couldn't even begin to tell you about any districts in this city other than the Riverside. But after having 'braved' the traffic - it's nothing compared to Saigon - and ventured far from my previous comfort zone I am now more knowledgeable of at least a few others, most notably BKK1, BKK2 and BKK3. However, I still can't pronounce what the letters actually stand for so it's essentially useless when talking to locals who don't use the acronym.

I have to say, Phnom Penh is way better with a motorbike! There is only so much exploring you can do on foot and only so much I can allocate to taking public and private means of transport on a daily basis. Tuk tuks and moto taxis are cheap when used infrequently, but they add up when you are constantly on the go. Having your own motorbike is essential. I've been learning where things are, discovering new restaurants, seeing where the police hide and realizing that the waiting time at traffic lights is far far too long. The timers seem to use real seconds as opposed to the machines on crack in Vietnam.

So, today after checking out a decent one bedroom in one of the aforementioned BKK districts, the friendly tuk tuk driver called me about a room in the Riverside area. Not my first option, but it was only $200 and worth a look. Of course, it turned out to really be $250, but still quite cheap for the area. I had low expectations. We waited about 45 minutes for someone with a key to show up and eventually I was being led down an alley, down another even narrower alley and up some dirty steps into the relative darkness past a number of other local residences. No fucking way, I thought.

We passed a old woman washing her saggy breasts in what might have been a shared public washroom. I didn't stop to check for lumps. We eventually got to a gate. Oh, this actually looks pretty nice. The guy eventually got it unlocked. One meter past this iron gate was the front door with three, yes three more padlocks. This seems safe, I thought. The amount of time he spent fumbling with the keys was definitely enough time to get robbed, ass raped and beaten over the head with a stray piece of rebar. I was shaking my head, fuck no, while we waited, but I still wanted to see what lied on the other side.

The inside was like an oasis compared to the outside. There as a large kitchen with high ceilings and pearly white tiles. And a large adjoining bathroom. And there was another door with yet another lock! We pushed on and inside door number three was a pretty sweet little one bedroom. A furnished bedroom that reeked a little of stale cigarettes and a large living area with a long black couch, desk, enormous wardrobe and an Anchor beer fridge that would have taken me a year to empty if it had been full. And there was a balcony overlooking street 136 leading to the hostess bars and the river.

Once inside, it was easy to forget about the outside. I could live here, I thought. I would be comfortable here. If only there was a spiral staircase leading to the sidewalk below. But there wasn't and there never would be. The guy assured me that the place was safe and mentioned all the other tenants in the building including the bar girls. That enticed me a little as I leaned my head to one side and squinted my eyes. Really? As we walked out of the place, back into the unfortunate reality, I pictured rats running down the stairwell and getting clobbered over the head with a 2 x 4. And then I noticed a sign in both English and Khmer warning about the recent rise in thefts in the building. Sign me up!

Yeah, I have officially decided against that one, but it was far and away the best on the inside. I think the tuk tuk driver was a little sad to see me so blatantly dismiss it, but I'm not one for taking my chances, especially not if they involve my life. Not that I consider Khmer people dangerous, far from it, but I don't want to ever worry about getting home in one piece. I probably would have always been scurrying like a rat to make my way down that alley and up those stairs, squeezing my body through the gate and under the door to the tranquility that lied within. Instead, I remain at the hotel hopeful that tomorrow I will find the one. The end.

Back in the Nam

Vietnam, it's good to be back. I haven't smiled this much since the last time I had sex. It's been a while. And before that, when I was in Nepal climbing to Annapurna Base Camp. Nearly a year ago! Not that I haven't had my share of joyous moments lately, but there is something about Vietnam and that is the hidden charm. I soon found myself back on a motorbike bobbing & weaving, zigging & zagging and accelerating & braking through the streets of Saigon. After some initial hesitation, it was like I'd never left. And even though I was stuck in traffic or inhaling some toxic fumes, it was all good and nobody could wipe that smile off my face.

And then there is the food. Holy shit. I haven't had so many orgasms in my mouth in recent months. The food in Cambodia is alright, I really can't complain, but it appears that Vietnamese food hits the G-spot in my mouth with greater accuracy. Saigon is abundant with cơm chay restaurants serving up cheap, delicious vegetarian meals probably also abundant in salt, sugar, MSG and other fun stuff that I don't want to know about. Please, don't ask, don't tell! The fresh fruit, namely the jackfruit this time around and the juices, genetically modified carrot juice in particular...wow!

Starbucks has recently opened in Vietnam and the grand opening was a BIG DEAL, but I refuse to go there. Not that I really care, I just prefer a cheaper cup of joe when I'm in the mood for some head fuzz. Besides, it also means I'd have to get on the motorbike and I've already obtained today's dose of soot up the nose and in the eyes. So, I just walked around the corner, down the alley from my hotel to Highlands, the local chain coffee shop, serving up overpriced cà phê sữa đá since 2002. But, they have air-conditioning! And the carrot cake ain't bad either. Man, I forgot how hot it is in Vietnam. Maybe it's the abundance of asphalt that makes me long for any place with a máy lạnh. It's easy to think the air conditioner is one of the best inventions ever, when you reside in a tropical environment.

Cà phê sữa đá, also known as crack cocaine, tastes like melted coffee ice cream. It's a treat for sure, but now with the ice sufficiently melted, it has a taste that more closely resembles a fresh dog turd on a grassy knoll with an abundance of other dried up crusty turds in the near vicinity. Oh well, I only needed a few sips of the brown stuff anyway otherwise I'd probably need more Tigers this evening to bring me back down. And besides, the carrot cake is actually better. My stomach has been on the receiving end of too much nutrition lately, I didn't want to overwhelm it.

I decided to come back to Vietnam for one primary reason. To pick up my crap that a friend had been so graciously storing for nearly 16 months. I planned to rummage through it and see what I hadn't been missing and therefore, consolidate even further. I got rid of a lot of paperwork, books, pens, old sunglasses, a wig - things that were definitely not worth lugging over the border to my new home in Cambodia in a few day's time. When it came to tossing out clothes, I found myself hesitating to throw anything away. I started seeing dollar signs. I can't throw away that ten dollar bill! That'll cost me $20 to buy in Cambodia. I need those. And on and on. I guess I can deal with a few heavy bags.

Yesterday, I played softball for the first time in a long while. I was ok. But after a couple games, which was followed up with some disc golf, I can honestly say I feel ruined. My legs are sore in places that haven't been sore in a long time and my neck, arms and legs are significantly sunburnt where I can actually feel the heat emanating from my body. I feel that if I were to be attacked by a gang of children tonight, that there would be no fight in this dog. Take my money! Curled up in the fetal position, trying to protect my teeth and my jewels.

So, why don't I just stay in Vietnam? Good one. It's not easy for me to stay in one place. I have issues. I am certainly comfortable in Vietnam, but I know the smile won't last forever. Some of the old annoyances have come back as I knew they would, but I realize now there is little I can do about them. Just have to shrug them off and learn to breathe, which is so often difficult to do. Anyway, I'm not done with Cambodia. I look forward to giving it six months and seeing what happens. A new city with fewer people, perhaps more garbage, but less pollution. A new language that is more intriguing or maybe just easier to pronounce and perhaps fewer, but different opportunities that may present themselves. We shall see. Finding the place for me....