Silk and rice

I spent the day in Takeo province today with my friend and weaving teacher, Somnang, and her family, allegedly working on my weaving, although only a couple of hours of it were spent only doing so. I also learned how to harvest rice, and got a couple of quality snapshots taken of myself feigning working hard under the Cambodian sun. I took several pictures of the little children who laughed voraciously over seeing their own picture in the back of my camera. And the trip out to the country side was one of the best things so far.

Somnang and I had to take the “Public” van which I have been always so curious about. They wait by the side of the road on the outskirts of the city until enough people show up to satisfy the demands of the owner that she should make her keep and meet the costs of upkeeping a monstrous vehicle. In this case it was 23 people, and often I think there are many more, in a vehicle the size of a minivan. Someone was also sitting on the roof, and I have seen many cans with multiple people sitting on the roof. it cost about 6 thousand reil, or $1.50. I guess the guy on the roof pays less. Originally they had me sitting in the choice seat of the front with 3 other people, but after a women who had just given birth got on with her infant, I was asked if I would be comfortable giving up my seat and happily opted to join the multitude in the back. All of the khmers thought this was the most amazing thing and kept asking questions about what life was like as a barang (it means “french” but is used to apply to all foreingners) in Kampuchea, if I ate khmer food, how old was I, weather I thought bread makes you stronger or rice. Those who had camera phones took pictures of me and told me I was so “sa-at.” sitting on the edge very close to the window I was quite squished, but comfortable with a nice breeze coming through the crack where the door couldn’t be closed all the way. we rode like this for an hour, me chiming in with the conversation here and there where I could, and trying to understand the jokes and chatter in Khmer.

When we got to Samnang’s house, I was immediately put to work at my warp, threading every thread through the tiny teeth of the weaving comb. the naturally dyed colors we had made the previous week looked so beautiful, even in stark contrast to the dirt of the floor of the house, and the plain wooden stilts and the floor we were sitting under. it’s so interesting to see these women weaving the most luxurious silk imaginable on looms made of old worn wood, floors of dirt, and chickens and cows walking around them. They are all so curious about me too, and why I am doing this. But they are happy that someone is taking an interest in what they are doing I think. And it is also giving them new ideas for what they could do with the amazing weaving skills that they have. I don’t think they understand how special what they do is. They have all done it since they were young, and it was passed down to them by their mothers in the very same way that they pass it onto their daughters. It’s so natural to them, and so mundane.

Much like farming rice, which is primarily done by the men. I was invited to try out harvesting the rice by Somnang’s brother in law, who was joking with me throughout the time I was there. It’s really quite simple, you just grab clusters of it and cut it with a small curved blade. The rice is then staked in bundles, and later, the grains are cut off and it dries in the sun. It is now the harvesting season for harvesting rice, and they grow only the amount which can feed their family for the year.

The Cambodian country side, was all green and flooded the last time I was in it, wereis now becoming dry and yellow, and the fields of rice now blow in the wind like the fields of wheat in the midwest. Its quite incredible the way that the rice grows according to the seasons here, which are completely different from our seasons, and the plants we have are adapted to our changing weather. When I first came here, I felt this whole year would be like one long season and that time would not feel like it was passing. But I was quite wrong about this fact. There are seasons here. They are just completely different than what I have ever known as a season.