Fridges, Hitches, Pictures - Just another ordinary weekend in Thmar Pouk village

The weekend begins well – on Friday I travel the 45kms up the bumpy, dusty track from Sisophon town with my nursing colleague Alison, not by the usual moto, but rather the luxury of a taxi (albeit the same Toyota Camrey which broke down twice on our last trip). I’m on a high - I’ve just sealed a deal to buy a fridge, and have it delivered it all the way to my village – goodbye icebox!

Arriving at the hospital is a disappointment though – it was the day after a holiday, and 11am so rice-eating time, but all the same we hope to see some staff on the wards. There is none. That’s right, in the entire hospital, there is not one single member of staff to be found. Surprisingly, the patients seem happy enough – probably used to it – the main concern being a good view of the medical ward telly to watch a khmer soap opera. The plot includes a big wedding (how lovely), so our visit provokes less amusement than usual.

After a lip-smacking pumpkin and noodle lunch things get better – the hospital director and head nurse welcome us warmly, though we still struggle to tease out exactly what they want us to do here. We have lots of ideas, but the whole point is that they know the local priorities better than us, so we really want their input.

Friday night brings the realisation that weddings won’t be restricted to the telly this weekend. With help from banks of speakers pumping plinky-plonk and heavy beats, my quiet Friday night reading has an unwelcome soundtrack. As the rainy season approaches there seems to be a rush to get hitched as quickly as possible. I will step up the rain dancing.

Saturday therefore begins at 4.40am, thanks to wedding noise. There are at least two, either side of my house. Warm congratulations to both. At least I’m up in plenty of time for the delivery of my new fridge.

Now there’s nothing wrong with my ice bucket, if you don’t mind slightly soggy pumpkin of an evening. And I don’t know anyone else in the village with a fridge, so it’s certainly an unnecessary luxury. I’m not even sure if it will work, as electricity is sporadic and I’ll probably blow the lot when I plug in. On the other hand every other volunteer I know has one, and I decided in a toddler-like moment of envious foot-stomping that this just wasn’t fair and I wanted one too. So I wait expectantly.

Before the fridge, an unexpected morning visit: Chhanty, the hospital cleaner who has a long-standing arrangement to give my house a weekday once-over, has decided my bathroom is unacceptably dirty. She’s right, and does a fine job of buffing it up with fabric conditioner, which does the job nicely. A weekend bonus!

It’s hot now – sweatily, lethargically hot, but I rouse myself for a bike ride in the midday sun – only one Englishman, but plenty of mad dogs. The roads are bumpy and dusty (and get far worse once it rains), but cycling round the village is a great way to observe life and take some pictures, whilst offering amusement to the locals.

My afternoon read continues the cycling theme – I’ve just started A Dragon Apparent, the memoirs of Norman Lewis as he travelled around Cambodia in the early 1950s. From the first chapter: “a bus, sweeping out of a side-street into the main torrent, caught a cyclist, knocked him off, and crushed his machine... the bus driver, jumping down from his seat, rushed to congratulate the cyclist on his lucky escape. Both men were delighted, and the cyclist departed, carrying the wreckage of his machine and still grinning broadly. No other incidents of my travels in Indochina showed up more clearly the fundamental difference of attitude towards life and fortune of the East and West”. Promises to be an interesting read.

In the evening I have a call from home, this time from Tracy, always welcome despite the dodgy line. I call back, but run out of phone credit. Undaunted, I seize my Petzl e+lite torch, a great present from my mate Nick, and venture into the darkness. But my landlord spots me (he spots everything) and makes it clear that the mean streets of Thmar Pouk are no place for the likes of me in the depths of night (8pm). He therefore kindly holds my hand all the way to the fancily entitled Pheap Mun Mobile Phone Shop. The phone companies provide impressive shopfronts but it’s actually just an old shack underneath (not unlike the fancy fascias on the rather basic mobile phones).

And it’s Sunday already. Another 4.30am start. I grumpily emerge, and decide that at least I will try market in the morning for a change (I usually go after work). And what a lovely surprise! – so much more happens early on. There are bananas (a bit crunchy, but yellow and banana shaped). And a waffle lady – coconut flavoured, cooked on a black iron over charcoal. And, joy of joy, an old geezer on a moto with bread - I buy his last two baguettes for 2,000 riel, just half a dollar. It’s only on the way home that I wonder if he was actually there to sell stuff or just passing through!

I get another unexpected visit from Chhanty and her sister – this time to show off her new baby girl. I do some appropriate cooing and take pictures, whilst they have a poke around at my stuff and ask twenty questions when they spot pictures of Katja - the idea of me having a girlfriend gives them fits of giggles. I’m bracing myself for further grilling next visit: why she no here? why you no child? And, of course, why you no wedding?

I’ll do some more reading today, go on another bike ride, finally arrange pictures of friends and family, finish this blogging stuff and hopefully catch up with Kelsey, the village’s other barraing, to watch a dvd. Sadly I won’t be Skyping home to my parents or brother / Sasha / nieces as there’s no internet at weekends here. And neither will I be arranging goodies in my new fridge – after some confusing calls with my new phone credit they now seem to need cash up front. Another unwelcome hitch, but a temporary reprieve for the icebox - and a nervous wait for my pumpkins.