And this year for my birthday…

Ever since my 16th birthday, when I spent the day at the ICU with my grandma, who was dying of lung cancer, my birthdays have sucked.  With two exceptions, they have sucked royally.

And this year is no different.

August 6, some of the K4 trainees came to my house for their Kampuchea Adventure.  I think they had a good time….I HOPE they did, anyway.  We kept it really low key and I gave them a chance to relax and just NOT do training stuff for a few days (not to mention the fact that my bones really hurt and I didn’t want to do stuff), and then I fed them spaghetti and macaroni and cheese—things I craved a LOT during training.  When they left on the morning of the 8th, I felt not so great but figured it was just fatigue from the new exercise class I’d started with my mom combined with the extra effort of playing hostess and translator all weekend.

BUT sometime in the middle of the night between the 8th and 9th I woke up with a fever of 103 (SURPRISE!!!) that wouldn’t go down below 100 no matter what medicine, or how much I took.  I also had a really nasty cough.  Three and a half days later, with no relief from the fever AT ALL (and one of the docs here saying, “just eat some soup, you’ll be fine.”) my host mom forced me to lay down with a block of ice on my head and one on my chest.  That helped a little, but by that time I was in so much pain that anything touching my skin made me sob uncontrollably.  

Today is August 12, my 27th birthday, and now on top of all the other stuff I’ve already written, I’m dealing with the fact that I have probably coughed my way into a hernia.  OH JOY. 

I don’t know what I will be doing for my birthday next year, but I’m guessing whatever it is will be great compared to this one.

One year down, one more to go...

Well, we have officially hit the one year mark, and I still feel like I just got here.

Things have simultaneously dragged on and flown by--when school is in session (if we have school) my days are packed and busy from sunup to sundown. And when there isn't school...well, I always have my adorable little kindergarten kids to occupy my time and have water fights with.

I don't really know what this next year will hold....School starts October 1st (but then again it did last year, and nobody started teaching until the middle of November) and from then it's just a short hop, skip, and hammock swing to Christmas. Not to mention all the nice little festivals and holidays in between. I figure that maybe what made most of last year go so quickly was breaking it down into small two week chunks. No matter how things are going, if I just break them down to two week chunks, it always seems more manageable.

And here, sometimes you really just need something to cling to!

The really nice thing about this month was having my parents here to visit, and showing them my beloved country. We had a blast at Angkor Wat, despite the crazy heat wave. We also went and hung out with my host family for a couple days and that was SO much fun. We spent a week down at the beach, and we saw everything there is to see in Phnom Penh.

It was so nice to get lots of hugs and snuggles and even hear my mom say, "Nikki! It's too hot to cuddle!"

Whatever the next 12 months hold, I'm excited for the ride. Here's to another great year in the Kingdom of Cambodia.

Love and blessings!

A little remodeling

As you can see, I've made a few changes to my blog, and I like the new look very much.

July is officially just around the corner and that means my parents will be here to visit my beloved Cambodia! Well, and me...they are coming to visit me too ;)

As a Peace Corps Volunteer, it is part of my job to educate Americans about Cambodians and to share with them some of the things I'm learning, hence this blog. I believe, though, that my parents' visit is a big part of that cross cultural exchange.

My parents, as incredible and awesome as they are, have a much larger sphere of influence than I do. If I can show them Cambodia in a way that helps them understand the history and future of this country, then they become a big source of education for all their friends and colleagues back home. Or at least get those same people interested enough to contact me to learn more.

I wish I could send all the love I have for this place to you, so you could understand. There are a lot of very broken, very damaged people here. But there is also a lot of hope and progress. Mother Teresa once said, "if we have no peace it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." I believe this is true, and the responsibility that comes with that is both humbling and awesome.

Death Becomes Her

The month of May was spent in a flurry of activity helping my family prepare for a big celebration. Everytime I asked what celebration it was, they told me it was a "special" one, and that they were all very excited I could attend. I wasn't going to get a straight answer, so I didn't press it much.

It wasn't until about two weeks ago that I found out the celebration was, in fact, my host-grandmother's 1 year funeral. The special thing, they told me, is that my host-grandmother, whom I am sorry to say died before I could meet her, was so respected in the community that she was chose to have her ashes interred at a very famous, centuries old wat near our house. I, for one, was not aware that this particular wat existed. I asked ar

ound and received various answers as to the age of the wat, but from all sources, I know that the wat is at least 200 years old and may be as many as 500. How amazing is that??? All the grandmothers I have had in this world have been so awesome, and here I have one that is considered awesome enough to be interred in a holy place that could quite possibly be older than my own country?! That kinda blows my mind. Like...woah.

From what I've heard of this woman, she is the kind of person I would have chosen to be my surrogate grandmother, if I had known her during her life. In my interviews with people over the last few weeks I've learned that she was kind, generous, loving, wickedly intelligent, a survivor, a fighter, compassionate beyond measure and wise.

She survived Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge, built a life for her family and helped others as she could, and sometimes, even when she couldn't. She lived true to her Buddhist ideals, and in so doing embodied love for all life. Sometimes when snuggle with my host mom, she pets my hair and smiles down at me and whispers, "you are just like my mother. I miss her, but when she left you came into my life. I don't hurt so much because I have you" or "you love like my mother loved...it is difficult, and beautiful, to love like that."

The ceremony at the wat lasted for nearly three days, and we were at the wat nearly the entire time. It began in the pre-dawn hours of Sunday, May 30th and ended in the late midnight hours of June 1. Sunday was spent setting up the wat area for the celebration. In most villages, and mine is like most, the elderly do all this work. They are the ones that take care of the monks and help with chores, so it was a little awkward for me to watch 70, 80, and 90 year old men and women do some pretty heavy labor and be scolded and smacked when I tried to help. I suppose if I werent' their Barang I'd be allowed to help, but there is no changing who or what I am. So instead of setting up canopies and laying down the mats to sit and pray on, I played with the kids (which in itself is a service to the elders...the kids get into EVERYTHING).

Mid day, a bunch of women my mom's age came around and started setting up great big cooking pots that looked like they should be used to feed an army. Little did I know, later the ENTIRE village would show up, and they pretty much did feed an army. Anyway, they showed up and started cooking all kinds of food that I think the FDA would throw a fit over. No hand washing, no clean utensils, chopping meat and vegetables on a dirty tarp on the ground. It was awesome.

In the late afternoon the monks showed up and we went through a series of prayers. As the Barang belonging to the family of the honored deceased, I was, naturally, sat right down in front of the monks. Now with me not being steeped in Buddhist customs, and not being able to completely understand what all was being said (rapid talking + loud speaker + strange people poking me as I try to concentrate and pray = not totally aware Nikki) I did my best to grin and fake it with the proper bowing and chanting. I'd like to pause here and thank my own mother, Mrs. Kimberly Ann Canady, for forcing me to eat carrots as a child--it was your dedication to my nutrition that allowed me the peripheral vision necessary to accomplish this task.
After dinner the first night, there was a live band complete with THREE scantily clad (they wore skirts that showed their KNEECAPS!) women and a man that looked sorta like a hobo gigilo. My mom was a little dismayed that nobody was dancing. She asked me why nobody was dancing. I wanted to offer that perhaps they couldn't dance because they'd all be deafened by the impossibly loud volume of the music, but that just doesn't translate into Khmer. When you say, "wow...that's really loud," you are invariably met with an offer to turn it up even louder. Instead, I pointed out that it was impossible to get to the dance floor due to the thousands of mayflies drawn to the bright lights (post thunderstorm). She told me that bugs should be no obstacle to dancing, paired me up with one of the policemen under my father's command (he LOVED that....me, not so much) and shoved me out into the swarm to fend for myself while trying to appear graceful.

To quote a favorite song of mine, "And with the way I stare you'd think I'd seen through a 2x4. And with the way I walk you'd think I've never seen grace before."

WELL. Trying to dance traditional Khmer dancing (in a circle, very slowly with lots of elegant hand movements) is NOT easy when being bombarded by insects! I was anything but graceful. My partner didn't seem to notice, however, since he was busy making sure everyone knew that he was dancing with the white chick. He did make sure to tell me that even though I am very fat, I have a beatutiful face. Oh Cambodia, how I love thee....

And so the world turned, and night fell. And then I noticed that there were children crawling all over the outside of my grandmother's tomb. And that they were, in fact, stringing up Christmas lights. Not only Christmas lights, but BLINKING Christmas lights. Then my brother Daro mentioned something about looking for a disco ball. My grandmother's funeral was turning into a rave. I wanna say, for the record, that when I die, I want to be so epic and made of so much Win and Awesome that my funeral turns into a rave, too. Just sayin.

Anyway, the disco ball never materialized, sadly, but the party went on well into to pre dawn hours. I was hustled home for a few hours of sleep, then back at the wat for sunrise and another long day of prayer and beseeching the good spirits to guide grandmother on her journey in the next life. Her ashes, contained in a beautiful urn, were poured out on a plate and doused wtih water for nourishment, then placed on top of a prayer rug in her tomb, along with a massive bundle of burning incense. There were a few tears shed, and I lamented that I was not afforded the opportunity to meet someone so loved by her family and community. After grandmother's tomb was closed up and padlocked, there was more praying and bowing and chanting and the party was re-kindled and went well into the night.

It was durring the party, part deux, that I had the awesome opportunity to look inside the wat and talk with the monks that live there. They told me the history of the wat, though none could agree on the age of the building itself. It is at least 200 years old and maybe 500 years or more. During the Khmer Rouge, most wats were destroyed but for some reason, Pol Pot decided that this one particular building should be kept whole. It was used to store salt and grain, as well as prisioners, and while some of the artwork on the walls was destroyed by the salt, for the most part the building is remarkably intact. The structures the monks live in, just a stone's throw from the actual wat, are decrepit and disolving at a rapid rate. They are made of bamboo and palm leaves, with a few brick supports. I'm sure when my father sees this building he will have visions of OSHA complaints and fines flash through his head.

All in all, the experience was amazing and humbling. It was a very intense time and while I am sad that I never got to meet my host grandmother in life, I feel as though I've grown close to her even after her death.

Blessings from Cambodia.

(Picture 1: My grandmother's tomb, Picture 2: The old folks praying with the monks, Picture 3: One of the inside walls from the ancient wat)

On the shores of the South China Sea

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.

Oh the joys of second/third/fourth languages.

As a foreigner (“Barang” as the Khmer say) in Cambodia, it is not an unusual thing for me to watch or experience something and make a face that looks like this: 0_o

Cambodian culture is very rich and complex, full of traditions and rituals that rank as the oldest in southeast Asian history. To the Khmer, the things they do are normal. To us Barangs, however, sometimes things don't quite add up.

One of the things that puzzled me most (and still bothers me to some degree) is this trend I've noticed where people will wash their hands BEFORE using the restroom and AFTER eating. In America, of course, we tend to emphasize the washing of hands AFTER the restroom and BEFORE eating. The thinking, as it has been explained to me, is that you never know what you have on your hands and, since we don't use toilet paper here, you don't want to risk wiping yourself with something that could cause irritation or a rash. And you wash after eating because at some point in the meal you will have used your hands to eat something.

Another thing that I still am not used to is the gender touch barrier. In Khmer society, it is absolutely not okay to touch a member of the opposite sex unless they are a family member. This can be difficult for foreigners, especially from western cultures, where we tend to use touch as part of our communication and displays of affection, both romantic and platonic. What makes it even more difficult for us lighter skinned Barangs is that we are a novelty item in Cambodia, and people love to touch us. And thanks to the modern movie and music world, most Cambodian men think all western women are begging for them to sleep with us. When I go into the market or take a ride in a taxi, it is not unusual for women to grab my arms, stomach, breasts, or legs. It's a Khmer woman thing, so I don't mind it too much. Even my host mother, whom I live with and see every day, still strokes my skin and grabs various body parts. The men try to do the same thing, but because I'm not your average bear and actually abide by the cultural norms, I don't let them.

The last time I was in my market, a man tried to touch my butt and one of the grandmas in the market came out with a big meat cleaver and told him to leave me alone or he would walk away without his manhood. It is times like those when I really appreciate being loved by my community!

Something that I really have a hard time with is the language—there are SOOO many words and phrases that sound alike. For instance:

“friendly” is pronounced: rayuk tayuk

“more diarrhea” is pronounced: reyuk teeit

“mango” is pronounced: swvy

“monkey” is pronounced: swva

“big” is pronounced: toam

“ripe” is pronounced: dtoom

These similar sounding words go on and on...a lot of the time it makes for some great comic relief at home. One night I was talking with my family and trying to explain that I like my mom's students very much because they are kind and friendly. What I ended up saying, with my blunders in tenses an verb conjugation, is: “I liked your students because they had more diarrhea.”

They though I meant that I like the students because they have more diarrhea than I do! I also once told my mom's students that they climbed the trees like mangoes.

Probably the funniest thing with the language that has happened to me is that I was in a taxi once, and it was very crowded (12 people in a 5 passenger car). I was trying to apologize to the lady next to me for being so big and taking up so much space. What I ended up saying was: “I'm sorry there is no room. I am very ripe.” Ripe, beyond the American connotation of “smelly” is also a euphemism here for being pregnant. The lady felt my stomach and looked very confused for a while. She then said, “maybe Barang babies have a different shape in the stomach.” The whole rest of the ride she kept trying to give me lotus beans to eat, because they are good for the baby.

On one nearly disastrous occasion, I used one of the verbs for “to love” incorrectly. There are a lot of words for “to love” in the Khmer language, and you use them for different things. You love chocolate differently than you love your mother, and differently than you love your spouse/partner. My host mother asked me if it would bother me if she had her afternoon classes at our house. I tried to say that it was no problem, because I love kids. I accidentally ended up saying that it was no problem because I like to have sex with children. 0_o For the record: THAT IS NOT TRUE!!!!!

Once my host mother and I were on the same page again, we laughed until tears ran down our faces.

A few thousand words worth of pictures

"That is the way it is in Cambodia.."

February 10 started out a pretty good day. I like Wednesdays normally, because I have really really good classes on those days--my students are actually interested in English and they are eager to learn. I was looking forward to the day. I got to school and one of my friends, Tin Tourin, handed me an invitation to her wedding which was to take place on the 26th of this month. I felt really included in my community and valued by my friend--normally at Khmer weddings all the attendees are required to give money to the bride and groom and she had told me specifically not to give them money because not only am I a volunteer (and therefore poor as snot) but she really just wanted me there for my support and friendship and not my money.

I finished my morning classes early. My last class of the morning, a 2 hour block with 11th graders, was astoundingly smooth and the students actually understood the material. We finished an entire lesson forty-five minutes early, which meant that I would get a great nap in before my afternoon classes (which are always so draining because of the heat). It was at this time that the day took a tragic turn.

The following is an excerpt from an email I sent home, explaining the event:

"At approximately 10:30am I was leaving the school, having finished my
morning classes. I was leaving the school with my housemate, Suy, and
ahead of us was our friend Tin Tourin. As my housemate and I
approached the school gate we watched in horror as a van swerved into
the wrong lane and hit Tourin head on. Her moto was pinned beneath
the nose of the car and she was dragged for some 50 meters before the
moto dislodged and tossed her to the side of the road. The van did
not stop. I rushed to Tourin and began to give CPR, but I am sad to
say my efforts were useless and she died. An ambulance was called to
take her body away and the police came to take pictures, but because
the van was not from my village and the destination was unknown, it is
unlikely that the driver will ever face justice. *(note: There will be no investigation.)

It is true that death is no respecter of persons. That very morning
Tourin handed me an invitation to her wedding on the 26th of this
month, and by that evening I was sitting beside her family at the
first night of her funeral.

Tourin's family is very, very poor and the cost of a funeral is beyond
their means. As such, the teachers of my school, myself included,
donated all we could to help the family. Today the students decided
on their own that they too would help her family. With our combined
efforts it is believed that we will not only be able to pay for the
entire funeral (which includes not only three dayts of the initial
funeral, but a ceremony at 7 days, 100 days, 1 year, and 3 years
postmortem) but also the grief price ($1,500US) the driver of the van
would have had to pay if he had stopped or been caught.

In just a few hours I will go with the teachers of my school to attend
the cremation of Tourin's body. In the Buddhist tradition they
believe that the body is made of four elements (fire, wind, earth, and
water) and by burning the body on a funeral pyre the body then returns
to those four elements. Since I was the last to hold her this life, I
have been asked by her family to help set her free into the next. As
of yet I do not know what this entails, but if it will ease the grief
of her family and fiancee, I will do my best."

I did my part with the cremation (I helped cover her body with incense before they lit the pyre) and cried along with her family.

The part that got me was the response from the police, the students, and the rest of the people that came to the scene of the accident. When I expressed my shock and dismay about the whole situation, the callousness, as I saw it, they just shrugged their shoulders and said, "that is the way it is in Cambodia..."

I am deeply saddened by the entire event and, and events following it have slowed down my ability to process the whole thing...I am, however, eternally grateful to my family and friends back in the states who have been so supportive, as well as my family here in Cambodia, who have watched and supported as their strange American daughter tries to work through this.

I hope one day the work I do here, the work I will do after, and the work of those who are passionate and compassionate like me, will effect so much change in the world that never again will someone shrug their shoulders and say, "that's just the way it is..." when someone is killed in a hit and run. Or killed for any reason. Life is too precious for that.

Ooooh...long time no see...whoops

I would love to say that I have not updated my blog in so long because I've just been THAT busy, but....that would be a lie. In all honesty, I have done more hammock napping and book reading in the last six months than I have EVER done in my life.

Christmas was lovely and VERY VERY laid back. I went to Phnom Penh with my friend Adrienne and we ate all kinds of Western food that we have been missing for the last three months (Christmas weekend was the first weekend we were allowed to come back to Phnom Penh after Lockdown), revelled in the air conditioning, and basked in the glory of each other's company.

I am blessed to have come this far from home and made such a rock solid friend.

New Years I spent at home with my host family. Global new years isn't such a big deal for Cambodians, since they also celebrate Khmer New Year and Chinese New Year, so on New Year's eve I slept and read until about 11:30 or 11:45pm. My host brother asked me to watch tv with him, so my brother, my mom and I watched a really REALLY bad new year's concerty (live, in Phnom Penh) and then a very anemic fireworks display. I was in bed and asleep by 12:20, I think.

Since then I've been working (a little) and being sick (a lot). I have been plagued by intestinal diseases here, and January was an extreme example of that. I seem to be on the mend now, thanks to my Peace Corps Medical Officer and the miracle of modern science and chemistry.

At training we were told to expect to gain weight...until now I have LOST 60lbs, which is cool and strange at the same time. The mirror I have at my home is about big enough to see my face if I stand in the right place, so when I came to Phnom Penh this week for medical treatment I looked in a big, fully body mirror and didn't recognize myself. That was a trip.

Look for more interesting reading to come soon....I hope.

The Holidays

November has flown by and as December rushes toward me with abandon.

The last three years, as I finished my college schooling, November has been punctuated by ice storms and sometimes negative temperatures. This year I traded the cold and ice for 40 degree Celsius temperatures and clear blue skies. The change did make it a little harder to get in any sort of mood to celebrate Thanksgiving, but a celebration was had nonetheless.

This past week Peace Corps broke us up in to regional groups and had us meet together for an In Service Training to brush up on language skills. We've been on "lockdown" since September and unable to leave our provinces, so for some of us (those who were fortunate to have their IST location in another province) we got to see a bit more of Cambodia. My group was sent to Batammbang province, to the provincial capital, which is the biggest town I've been in since September. There are a few PCV's in my group that are stationed in this town, so they weren't able to travel, but even for them this event was exciting because we got to reconnect with friends that haven't been seen for a long time.

I arrived in Batammbang on Thursday morning. The bus ride from my village (Salah Lek Brahm) cost $5.00 (plus an extra $2.00 "service fee" ((read: "hey, you're a Barang and have money...give me more money or I won't let you get on the bus"))) and took four and half hours to travel a little over 200K. I left at 7am and arrived just before noon. The hotel we stayed in is new and nice, as far as Cambodian hotels go. For some reason PC opted not to provided us with hot water or air conditioning (since it's winter here) and we all felt the effects as temperatures soared to above 90. The room I shared with my friend Darlene had an eastern exposure and got a great deal of direct sunlight, leaving our room absolutely unbearable. The first two nights we suffered along with the heat, making use of one small oscillating fan, but the third day I broke down and paid for the aircon myself. I just didn't see the point of being unable to sleep and end up grumpy all day if I had the means and ability to change the situation. That was a great decision.

The language training was alright. I learned some good words and phrases. I think the most helpful back home will be "Mom, the ducks have escaped from their pen again!" My family keeps a brace of ducks and, for as stupid as they are, they've managed to figure out how to escape. They do so five or six times a day, and I get to help my mom herd them back into the pen. Until now I have just stammered out "Mom, the ducks are visiting!" in Khmer. The point got across, but to be able to speak with some semblance of intelligence will be nice.

I also learned more of the why's of a the most popular greeting here--"Have you eaten rice yet?" Every day I am greeted with this phrase twenty, thirty, sometimes forty times. Everyone wants to know if I've eaten rice. This, apparently, became a common greeting during the Khmer Rouge years when eating any kind of food, let alone rice, was a rare and fortunate event. If some could answer that they HAD eaten rice, it generally meant that things were going well that day.

While it is still annoying to be asked if I've eaten rice a million times a day, it makes it more understandable.

Friday night our group, 12 volunteers from K3 and several K2's, made our way to a bar called "The Bus Stop", an establishment owned by a very shady Australian man. There we had a true Thanksgiving feast complete with smoked turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, green beans, apple pie, pumpkin pie, ice cream, and the best sweet potato casserole I have ever had IN MY LIFE. It was so good I've had dreams about it since.

Turkey meat is not common in Cambodia. The guy that owns The Bus Stop is pretty seedy, though, and has enough black market connections to get us one. It cost $100, but we got it, and it was DELICIOUS. The food was wonderful and a good time was had by all. It didn't feel like Thanksgiving beforehand, but after, when we all started to give in to the food coma, it certainly felt exactly like Thanksgiving.

It is pretty hard to be away from home during the holidays, but when you live in a climate zone so foreign to your own, it does help you forget that the holidays approach. Like I said before, I knew the holidays were nigh when the ice storms in Missouri made it impossible to open my car doors and I had to listen to 9 hours a day of Christmas music at Home Depot starting November 1. Here, no ice. And CERTAINLY no Christmas music. I think that might be worth the 10,000 mile trip in and of itself!