So we are still on the In Country Training in Kampong Cham and wishing it would end so we can get on with actually doing something constructive. The Khmer lessons continue every morning although the level of proficiency does not seem to be increasing accordingly. We now know useful things like that the word for pink “por pka chhook” is the same as that for lotus flower and shower head. The word for tri-mester is the same as gold fish! The potential for making some very big blunders with the language is huge but as yet we have not got further than “2 bottles of beer and a plate of chips please.”

Last week was one of the many, many religious holidays. This one was in honour of the ancestors, an extended “day of the dead” when everyone returns to their family village – a bit like Christmas without the Queen on the tele. The tradition is to visit the pagoda (wat) and make offerings of food or money to the monks. About 95% of the population is Buddhist and the golden roofs of the Wats dominate the landscape. Many of them are quite spectacular considering that most were damaged or destroyed during the Pol Pot era. The shaven headed, saffron robed monks are deeply respected although its difficult to show deep reverence to a very attractive young man hammering along on the back of a moto, smoking a ciggie and chatting on his mobile phone.

A surreal Cambodian moment occurred during a visit to a local Wat. A very frail and elderly monk is lying sleeping on the floor while a large monkey was gently and lovingly grooming him. When Maraid stepped forward to take their photo the monkey went ape(?) lunging at her and screaming with bared teeth. Perhaps the reaction to this insensitive intrusion into an intimate ritual was justified but it also rather disturbingly resembled a moment from “The Omen”.

Taking advantage of the holiday we went on a little trip to Krattie to see the famous, freshwater, Irrawaddy dolphins. We took a long tailed boat out on to the river and the dolphins obliged us by putting on a show. We tracked them for an hour or so until the magic was complete when they broke the surface against the backdrop of a beautiful Mekong sunset.

There was a little bit of drama on Sunday when some of us went out for a bicycle trip into the

country to visit The Man Mountain and The Woman Mountain. As Jean is a cycle phobic Jon took her as a pillion passenger on one of the motos. As we pootled down a country lane three lads on a moto cruised past and lifted 800 quids worth of camera out of his front basket. Outraged, Jon chucked Jean off the back and set off in hot pursuit of the little buggers. The rest of us puffed and pedalled along behind occasionally coming across huddles of excited villagers who pointed and said “they went that’a’way”. In high dudgeon Jon chased them down the muddy lanes for about 20 minutes yelling Anglo-Saxon abuse and threatening castration when he caught them (whether they understood all of this clearly is in question). Eventually, having the advantage of one against three on the bikes, he started to gain on them. Faced by the prospect of a big, bearded, roaring red-faced Barrang (Khmer for foreigner) they ditched the camera. As he victoriously drove back through the villages triumphantly waving the camera he was greeted by clapping and cheers. This heroic exploit has gone down in the annals of VSO legend but it is also universally denounced as a very, very, very stupid thing to do. However Jon is now quite confident of his ability to ride across the muddy wasteland that is the Cambodian road system.

Travelling through Cambodia you become aware that it is a place of huge inconsistencies and contrasts. The countryside is so beautiful, verdant and fertile producing wonderful images like a huge black water buffalo wandering through the paddy fields with a tiny child sitting cross-legged on its back. The towns’ streets, however, are lined with mud and rubbish. Some families live in little more than grass shacks, which they share with their livestock while their more privileged neighbours have acquired massive gated and guarded palaces. Despite the wealth suggested by the huge Landcruisers and majestic housing the poverty of some was brought home to us one evening in Battambang. Having eaten our fill in a pavement restaurant we were humbled when a small boy asked us to fill his plastic bag with our leftover rice so he could feed his family. We are under no illusions that we can solve the problems created by

over 30 years of genocide, war and corruption but increasingly we see the need for us to do our tiny bit.