How about the rain?

Skies just about to burst, view from my balcony, Siem Reap

It’s the same every year….

We choke on dust for 6 months literally gagging for some moisture sent from the sky. We beg the weather Gods to send us some rain. We bake in the oven aka Siem Reap and by April we are growling sweaty mess suffering the mango madness.

Then it comes, out of nowhere it seems. Heavens open and we are swimming, yet somehow Siem Reap still manages to be dusty. Beats me.

With the wet season I am entering a new era of identity. I ditch all my white tops purely for safety reasons - and I am not talking only about dirt! Black is the new black and that’s my rule. Splash of colour is provided by the ever so necessary scarf which is also a dust buster and I will not leave my house without it. I can safely retire my hair straighteners and look frantically for frizz fighting products on the supermarket shelves. Not much luck there as I try to manage my hair with mind of its own into a semi presentable head of curls. Note to self: try harder or shave it.

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Tonle Sap full to the brim

Fishing, the main wet season sport

...and here comes mud....

Pretty dressed in green and with plenty of skies reflected in the water

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We talk about the rain. We talk about if, how or when it’s going to rain. We even have a bet how long before the rain.  We watch the sky with respect and wait for the rain. It comes, as a general rule, during lunch break or just before knock off time which makes me reach for lesser used and not so flattering words. I also reach for my blue plastic rain coat, made of durable substance the smell of which takes me back to childhood, blow up pools and balloons. Cycling in the rain, looking like a giant condom, is great fun. You end up wet either way – inside out, as my blue plastic raincoat encourages sweating. 
Breathability = 0.

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Life goes on as normal (and this road is now paved!)

Happy chickens roaming free in shoots of rice

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This time I am not getting drenched, I sit in the safety of a restaurant with a clear view of the street, watching nature unleash its force. Rows of colourful “condoms”on bicycles amuse me. Today we have strawberry, banana and blueberry flavor battling the head wind and lashes of horizontal rain in a true rainbow fashion. God, there must be about 15 of them, I imagine all the tour members, minus their hats and flags, anxious not to be separated, so regardless of the weather they battle and pedal on. I am smart and have a beer instead. I can happily live without a TV.

The rainy season brings emerald green back to life. All shades of it. Cappuccino coloured lands transform almost overnight into  patches of green, rice shoots promising a new rich harvest and cows are happily roaming and chewing.  This time of year is lovely and very photogenic, despite the mud that comes with it. You must let Cambodia get under your skin. Ironically, in the middle of the rainy season, when you return from a day in the country and want to wash Cambodia off your skin,there is no water coming out of the tap. This, again, makes my vocabulary flare up as I use the more peppery expressions.

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Signature sunset #324

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Then, officially, we get sick of the wet. We hate the grey skies and forget what the sun looks like. We are sick of constant power cuts. We dream of blue skies and fluffy white clouds, sunrises and sunsets. And when the floods come we all consider living in the organized, clean and sterile “west”. Then we think again.

The bliss of winter lasts only for two short weeks according to what my overheated brain cells can recall now. We all talk about how cold it is. We wear socks at home, drink hot chocolate and enjoy warm showers. We know we can never endure proper winter at home. 

And then it starts all over again.

Working the land, beginning of the wet season

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Sunrise in the build up to the wet

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