|A glimpse of the inner workings of|
the public works system, The new drainage
pipes are juxtaposed against the
old system built by the
French in the 50's.
Not a great smell from
that black water!
The blush of January and February's fresh air have now left, filled with the residual vestige of a slight breeze in the morning. We are now in hot season. I am finding the smells around town a bit oppressive. The noxious fumes of the ill-maintained diesel truck mingled with the small puffs of moto exhaust on my leg in the traffic.
There's a clear piercing aroma of dust as the young man stands strong and tall on the first story remnants of an old Colonial building, swinging his sledgehammer and knocking off brick by brick all day. Perhaps the developer likely couldn't schedule the machine to do it, or the boys were cheaper.
The waft of the trash that has rested too long in the street in the early evening, where on the outskirts of the city, the cattle will wade their way through the plastic and forage for leftovers.
I can smell the faint aftershave on Mr Picadeh (my regular motodup) in the morning or the beer on the tuk tuk driver's breath on a late Sunday afternoon, I politely decline a ride from the would-be driver and his friends laugh as he returns to the card game. A babe swings in the hammock under the shade of the tree as.the nonplussed mother observes me and touches the bulk of her fanny pack filled with cash and phone cards from the day's sales.
|From the article printed in 2012: Women irked by men who urinate|
in public.The article quoted one Cambodian woman who urged men
to find a toilet. Like women have to do.
The smoke of a charcoal fire from the neighbors below wafts up to my kitchen window and I can hear the girls chattering and the thunk of the cleaver chopping vegetables when I do the dishes. There's an occasional wisp of a perfume of lovely young girls strolling the promenade of riverside, juxtaposed against the acrid smell of stale urine accumulated from the habits of men in this country.
|After a particularly effluent evening walk, I was glad to|
see the boys having hosin' er down. Now, for the rest of the city.
The water in the river now appears a nearly sea green hue and the rice fields in the highways are brown and fallow, the occasional ibis rummaging for crickets or mice.I find myself longing for the rain, hoping to relieve that holding pattern of drought. Find something to wash the city clean and water the fields and have the verdant grass come again.
Thecoming days will bring this change. And I will have the space and time and energy to dedicate time to craft. A new relaxed attitude. A commitment to to churn through my creative process and see what emerges.