April is a month of rest and relaxation for many here in Cambodia. And since we don't have school for almost an entire month, a friend and I have decided to take the time to see the sea.
Adrienne and I are were both born and bread on the Pacific, she in southern California and myself in Washington state, so for us being so far from the water has been a bit like being without a limb. Since we've been here we've heard a lot about this place called Rabbit Island and how wonderful it is. When April rolled around we decided to hop on a bus, head to the coast and see for ourselves.
Rabbit Island is a small place with only a handful of permanent inhabitants. It can only be reached by a 30 minute ride in a leaky boat, and once ashore there is little doubt that you will be forced to relax. The island has no electricity, save for a few hours at night by generator, no running water, and no "western" accommodations to speak of. Rabbit Island is perfect for Adrienne and I.
We spent six days there, lounging on the shore and listening to the waves break. We read several books, played several thousand hands of gin-rummy (most of which I lost) and even watched a few Jaws movies as the evening tide came in. Words cannot express how much I loved having my skin stained with the scent of sunblock and knowing that the worries of life and the hardships of Peace Corps service were temporarily on hold.
After Rabbit Island we returned to the mainland and chose to stay ion Kep, where I write from, which is also on the sea. We are staying at a place called Kep Seaside, which is a passable enough guest house. The room is a bit lacking (lots of mosquitoes and a ceiling fan that barely moves any air) but the staff have come to enjoy joking and jesting with us. One girl that works in the restaurant has begun to give me hugs each morning and evening and tease me about having a fight--especially funny since she only comes up to about mid-chest on me.
One thing that has been pressing in my mind is the dichotomy in this country between those that have and those that have not. In my village, a rich person is someone who can afford a moto or a car. Here in Kep, however, I write from a restaurant at a sailing club while a multi-million dollar boat is anchored outside. The poor here would be kings in my village.
True, a lot of that has to do with location. My village simply is not a place that holds any attraction for tourists. The seaside, though, is a perfect place to vacation.
I needed this vacation, to be honest. I love my host family, I love my village, I love my school and my mom's kindergarten students who fawn over me. I enjoy many things about this country that I have come to love. What I didn't realize, though, was how much I needed to recharge my own batteries...I have been working so hard to help other people and to meet their needs that my own were not being met.
Here at the ocean, though, the waves crash with a steady assurance; the heartbeat of the earth. I watch children and families play in the water and I see the crabmen bringing in their catch, I smell the air, fresh and clean, and I know that I am ready to take on whatever awaits me back in Sala Lek Bprahm. My village. My home.
