Dengue Fever wakes up Battambang

When my friend Katie posted to her Facebook about Dengue Fever in Battambang, her loved ones were concerned. Drink more water. Be safe. Do you need to go to the hospital?

Perhaps she should have clarified. We’re talking about Dengue Fever, the band.

I was pretty damn excited when I heard an internationally known band would be giving a free concert in Battambang, Cambodia. Battambang is perennially described as “chill” and “laid back” and “sleepy”. What, I wondered, would it look like when a big act moved in?

The day of the concert, a stage was set up opposite the riverside noodle and fruitshake stalls. As it got closer to the concert time, the road was roped off from passing vehicles. This was a nice and unexpectedly thoughtful touch in a country that seems widely unconcerned with road traffic safety.

No parking was provided, so most people pulled up on their motorbikes, formed a large semicircle around the stage, and sat on their motorbikes for the duration of the concert. The rest of us stood near the stage, surrounded by the protective contingent of bikes. Despite a decent showing of a couple hundred people, there was ample room to stand and dance without feeling claustrophobic.

The lead singer from Dengue Fever lives in Los Angeles, but was born in Battambang. When she came out on the stage, she pointed out her old primary school and told us in Khmer and English just how happy she was to be there.

She, and the rest of the band, knew how to work the mainly Khmer crowd. They played almost exclusively Khmer songs, many of which had a psychedelic Dengue Fever-edge to them. The crowd danced and sang along to many of the songs.

The only thing that marred the night was the advertising coup of the Cambodian mobile company, Smartphone. They had handed out inflatable green batons which many in the audience were using to slap together offbeat and playfully hit each other with.

So what does Battambang look like when it’s woken up?

Not a lot different, really. The concert ended by 9:30 p.m. and most people went straight home afterwards. Even twenty minutes later, the roads were empty again, save for the litter of flyers and fluorescent leaflets carpeting the ground.

But for a few hours, a crowd gathered in Battambang and danced and sang together, Barang and Khmer side by side.

Bedouin-Style Oud in Petra

When Abdullah approached me as I walked toward the cliffs near Petra in Jordan, I just wanted to be alone. I was tired of smalltalk, tired of being hit on, and tired of the energy required to exert myself. But I didn't want to close myself off to anyone or anything. I reminded myself that just because yesterday had been a shit day shouldn't mean that I retreat into myself and ignore the world. So I chatted with Abdullah and when he invited me for a drink, I joined him. He then joined me as I walked through the rocky terrain though it soon became clear that he was more interested in sitting and drinking gin and telling stupid jokes just to see me smile.

I soon tired of his company and his alcohol-loosened behavior towards me, but he spotted some friends of his--five Bedouin men drinking and singing in a cave--and we joined in. I couldn't resist the siren call of the music.

A master oud player, Isa, explained to me that Bedouin-style oud is very similar to the Arabic-style and he demonstrated some basic techniques. Soon he was playing a popular old song and everyone was singing and clapping along.

Isa made up one or two verses about me, and we all smiled and laughed and danced, but through it all I couldn't quite stomach the sheer amount of liquor being consumed. ("Tea is Bedouin whiskey," is a common saying in Petra. I'm inclined to say that in Petra at least, whiskey is the Bedouin whiskey.)

As I left, Abdullah bade me a sloppy and prolonged goodbye, speckled with pleas to see me again and anger at my refusal. And though I yet again felt exhausted by the interaction, the joyous music and singing buoyed me through and the strain's of Isa's oud lingered with me.

Oh Battambang!

Listening to this song transports me immediately back to Cambodia, back to Battambang.

I had been traveling through the country for a few weeks before I overheard this song and realized he was singing about Battambang, about a city which was becoming increasingly dear to me. (I use the word "city" in only the loosest of terms; Battambang feels more like a low, sprawling town.) Months later, this same song was still being played in every restaurant, every bus, every store I went into but I wasn't tired of it. Not at all. In fact my housemates and I often spent mornings listening to "Oh Battambang" on repeat and at least two of my friends translated the song, using it to help them brush up on their Khmer. And it didn't stop there.

I remember going to a pizza restaurant with a group of Peace Corps volunteers and requesting "Oh Battambang" be played over the speakers. The waiter was happy to comply, and soon, those of us who knew the song were singing along as loudly as we could and teaching it to the rest of the group.

When we heard the music video for the song had been shot in Phnom Penh, we were outraged and became inspired to shoot a video for the song based in Battambang, showcasing the landmarks of the city--Aek Phnom, Phnom Sampeau, Ta dambang statue, the bamboo train, and of course, the Stung Sanker! Unfortunately, as with many of our inspired ideas (making a song out of gecko chirps, sweding Double Indemnity, building a swimming pool in the yard) this one barely made it off the ground.

Here's a link to the official music video. You can see that the only shots of Battambang are actually on green screen. For shame!

Melodies and Memories: Bozdag's Theme

This is Bozdag. He is a karakachan, or Bulgaria sheep dog, a large livestock protection breed. He has taken it upon himself to escort us, the volunteers, every night to the house we sleep in on the other side of the village. He then sleeps outside our door and escorts us back in the morning.

Besides his penchant for herding, his most notable characteristic is his boundless energy. I do mean boundless. He is ready to play anytime and has a tendency to hop and bound through the snow like an over-sized bunny rabbit.

And this is the theme song that plays constantly in Bozdag's head, which may explain why, as he jumps and bounds and tears at clothing, he is unable to hear the cries of "No, Bozdag! No!"

Where did I sleep last night?

My traveling, my life, has a soundtrack and often particular songs are inextricably linked with certain places or memories. In line with this phenomenon, I'm starting a feature called (cheesily) melodies and memories.

When I started cycling through sparsely populated northeastern Cambodia without a tent or any camping equipment, I soon realized that I would need to think creatively about where to sleep each night. So every evening around 5:00 p.m. as the sky started to darken, I kept watch for the next house and would pantomime to the owner my desire for a place to sleep. I often slept on the floor (naturally):

but the strangest place I slept was on a family's dining table as they didn't have enough floor space.

Because I never knew where I would sleep each night, and because I had ten or eleven monotonous hours on the bicycle, I began singing, as if on continuous repeat, Nirvana's Where Did You Sleep Last Night, especially as dusk began to fall.