Koh Chang is a great place to get in a few beach days before making the overland trek towards Cambodia. Prior to the border crossing, I had done some online research and cross-referenced several websites. I had prices jotted down on a scrap piece of…Read More

Koh Chang is a great place to get in a few beach days before making the overland trek towards Cambodia. Prior to the border crossing, I had done some online research and cross-referenced several websites. I had prices jotted down on a scrap piece of paper, and this played a huge factor in my bargaining power. You might want to print out the information below to make it all the more legitimate.

1. From Koh Chang, take the ferry to Laem Ngob port (80 baht, about 40 minutes).
2. At Laem Ngob, there will be sangthaews waiting for passengers to take you into Trat. They won't leave until it has been filled up with passengers, or you pay for the unoccupied seats. We were able to depart with a total of five people, each paying 50-100 baht, on a 30 minute ride. (My friend had a bicycle, so he was charged for that.)
3. You want to be dropped off at Trat bus terminal, and there will be a minibus to Hat Lek. (120 baht, 1.5 hours). We only had to wait ten minutes until the bus filled up (the driver predicted an hour), so don't stray away too far to the food court.
4. At Hat Lek, get your passport stamped out of Thailand.
5. Walk about 300 meters acrooss No Man's Land. Lovely sunset.
6. At Koh Khong, there will be a few men who may approach you and act like border patrol customer service. We thought they were officials, so we obliged when they asked us to have a seat at a nearby table outside. They filled out the paperwork for us, as well as asked us about our transportation needs to Koh Khong. We paid 1200 baht for the Cambodia visa. When we finished our paperwork, the customer service asked us for a tip. I stuck to the cardinal rule of SE Asia: Always agree on a price before taking a service. I told those fellas that we didn't agree to any money, so I wasn't going to tip them. AVOID this whole process by going directly to the immigration counter and filling out your own paperwork.
7. From the Kho Kong border, 250-300 baht will be reasonable for the 8 km ride to Koh Khong city (per taxi). The driver and the driver's buddy may ask if you already made a booking at a guesthouse because boy, is it really busy right now with every place full. I said that I had a booking at Koh Khong guesthouse (I didn't). It was pretty funny because the driver seemed to know this game, too and kept asking, "You sure?? You have booking?"
8. At last. We arrived at Kho Kong guesthouse, run by a very nice Cambodian guy. The rooms are cheap and okay. There's a restaurant there on the second floor, and a good WiFi cafe next door.
9. If you want to continue on to Sihanoukville, the only real option is a 8 am bus (that can be booked from the guesthouse). Note that Thai baht is not readily accepted in Sihanoukville. ATMs are readily available and dispenses USD. Western Union cashes traveler's checks.

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"I’ve got an idea, but I don’t know if it’s a good one or not." Tim hands me one earpiece of his headphones to put in my left ear, while he puts the other also in his left ear. We’re hooked up to his wristwatch…Read More

"I’ve got an idea, but I don’t know if it’s a good one or not." Tim hands me one earpiece of his headphones to put in my left ear, while he puts the other also in his left ear. We’re hooked up to his wristwatch nano, and Bob Dylan starts belting out ‘Forever Young’. The wind is whipping through my hair, and I don’t even know how fast we’re going because the speedometer on the motorbike is broken. I’m feeling carefree, not careless. We are just two locals commuting 12 kms to work. Uh oh, the nano gets stuck, and Tim asks me to push a button on his watch, but I can’t let go of the pineapples that are balanced between my left hip and hand. I pull a Twister maneuver with my right hand going under his right driving arm, across his chest, trying to hit the damn nano button. Meanwhile, traffic is passing by, sometimes a bit too close, and it always catches me by surprise since our motorbike didn’t come with rearview mirrors.

During our down time, we look for places to explore. We have a "You Know You’re Addicted to Facebook" moment when we decide to head out after 8 pm to find an internet café. It’s pitch dark as we pass men searching with flashlights in the rice fields-- a scene straight out of a movie, the one where police are looking for a missing body in an open area. Later we find out that they were hunting for rabbits or other food. Eventually, we reach town and approach a roundabout, nearly having a head-on collision with a herd of cows. They must have been going barely 3 miles per hour, but they got confused when Tim slaloms the motorbike around them.

On other days, it’s Lady Gaga, the Cranberries or Outkast that sets the tone for the day. We pass through villages lined with rice paddies, and cheerful shouts with friendly waves of ‘hello’ echo all around. We ride to swimming holes, roadside vendors selling coconuts, a pagoda. We ride as the sun begins to set, alongside the mountains that shoulder our path. The destination never really matters because there is always this zen-like feeling that happens during the ride. It’s a connection to my surroundings; the sense that everything is good right now. They say that happiness if fleeting, but the moment stays with me for awhile.
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The welcome gifts pour in during the first two days of our arrival at Kirivorn School. Watermelons, coconuts, mangoes, cookies, something that looked like a cross between a bouquet of flowers and a cactus, soda, juice and candy pile into our arms. Students surround the…Read More

The welcome gifts pour in during the first two days of our arrival at Kirivorn School. Watermelons, coconuts, mangoes, cookies, something that looked like a cross between a bouquet of flowers and a cactus, soda, juice and candy pile into our arms. Students surround the classroom door, and one after another, they step forward to give us their presents. I feel overwhelmed by their kindness --these are poor students; some traveled far from home to school on foot. I had never met them before in my life.

Outside is the generator, switched on twice a day for computer class, at $1/hour (expensive by Cambodia standards). All other times, there is no electricity and no need. The open windows and door provide natural light for the classrooms. Nearby is the school’s vegetable garden, various fruit and nut trees, two dirt volleyball courts, the kitchen shed, and water pump. Compared to state schools, the facilities at Kirivorn are abundant.

At Kirivorn, the day begins at 7 am starting with breakfast from the school garden-- a plate of morning glory that is fried up in the kitchen. The students eat outside, standing or sitting on the ground. Class is from 7:30 until 11 am for the primary school students, and continues from 1 pm to 4 pm for the fifth and sixth grade students.

Soon afterwards, we begin our interview with Sou, a 15 year old sixth grader. During the two hour lunch break, we follow him back to his home. We are greeted by Sou’s grandmother, a 78 year old woman who turns teary-eyed within minutes of our interview. I ask Nop Vey if she is okay, and he answers that Sou’s parents are divorced; he never sees his father, and his mom returns every two months from her job to give money to her family. The lines on her face tell it all, that life has been hard for her but she is here for her three grandchildren. Income is derived from growing vegetables and raising up to 20 chickens that the grandmother then sells to the local market.

For Sou, his grandmother wants him to grow up to do whatever makes him happy. Although she never learned how to read or write, she wants to push and support her grandchildren to study and reach higher education. There is talk that Sou will join the monastery and become a monk. The conversation suddenly turns somber when Sou’s grandmother tells us that her husband, and six out of eight of her children were all killed by the Khmer Rouge. When we ask why she was spared, she has no immediate response. "Just lucky; no special reason," is the translated answer. She says that the Khmer Rouge ate all the vegetables in the family’s garden, leaving nothing for them. As for her two surviving children, they were ridden with disease and their suffering barely outweighed the grandmother’s wish for them to die in peace.

Sou’s family is considered middle class compared to his peers at Kirivorn. He lives only a kilometer down the road from the school in a three room wooden house, including a TV, a couple of dogs, and two raised platforms that are used to sit or sleep on. Here, wealth is determined by the fertility of the land, the location of the land (the closer to the main road, the better), how much land is owned, whether a generator exists, and the number and variety of animals owned (water buffalo being the top prize). However, middle class doesn’t mean that college is affordable. Tuition starts from $250 up to $750 a year. The cost is too expensive for most students, so only a few attend university. Instead, high school graduates end up taking a factory job or farming.

Back at school, I teach English to a third, fourth, and fifth/sixth grade class. Although Kirivorn has had many visitors, Tim and I are the first volunteers at the school. The English teacher Nop Vey encourages me to teach three English classes a day, so that the students have a chance to practice speaking with a foreigner. Over the course of four days, I engage them in whole class, pair, and small group activities that focus on speaking, listening, reading and writing skills. My teaching materials are simple. I use colored paper, a ballpoint pen, and a permanent marker. For an activity that involves taping sentence strips to the whiteboard, I prepare for the lesson by bringing along my sports tape from my travel first-aid kit. Sure enough, there is no tape at the school, and Nop Vey says that the supply ran out just before our visit. As I put the sports tape on the whiteboard, it loosens from its nail and drops at sudden angle towards the floor. This happens at least once a day, and accustomed to this routine, Nop Vey reaches for his hammer and re-attaches the whiteboard to the wall.

The students are eager to learn and participate. They sit in on my class even when they are supposed to be somewhere else. They are also observant. As I enter the school grounds one morning, I wordlessly pick up a piece of trash and start walking to the garbage can. Within seconds, half a dozen students in front, behind and alongside me collect trash from the ground and follow me to the garbage can. I am astounded.

In the library, I prepare materials for my class. I need to make five sets of alphabet cards, with each deck on different colored paper. A student watches me as I fold a sheet of paper into eighths, then I tear the paper along the folds using my hands. I ask him if he wants to help, and soon enough I have seven students folding, tearing, and stacking the cards. I love this. It’s boys and girls, third graders up to sixth graders who all want to be involved.

Tim goes around the school, filming an overview of the facilities and taking photos of the kids. He’s like the pied piper; a 6’2 crazy-haired guy with bands of children following his every step, his every turn. For a single stride that Tim takes, they have to take three to keep up. He stops to inspect some of the students’ bicycles that are parked by a tree. With a multi-tool, Tim toodles and tunes, noticing that most of them don’t have brakes and the size of the bike is rarely the right fit for height of the child. With dozens of children gathered around him, Tim tells the kids that they are "awesome." Automatically, they respond in unison, "Awesome!" This rally of "awesome" continues on for a few minutes, with each consecutive turn more enthusiastic than before. It’s the word kids remember for the rest of the week, even before our names.

On our last day, Tim and I say our goodbyes to each class. The third and fourth grade classes politely and graciously return our farewells, but the fifth/sixth grade class turn unnervingly quiet and still during our closure. I feel sad and try to think of reassuring words. I wish them happiness and offer them hope of seeing them again someday. Tim says to them, "I will never forget you."

We hop on our motorbike and as we exit the school, kids start running all around us shouting, "Bye! Bye!" It’s emotional. We shout back goodbyes and exchange high fives. Though that’s about all we can communicate, it’s packed with affection and hope and memories that we will take away.

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