Why We Love Worms (Siem Reap #2)

When I saw an opportunity to visit a silk worm farm, I knew we had to go  My love of all things fabric and a healthy helping of "how its made" curiosity made it an imperative side trip.  After all, I am the girl who stopped with her mom and sister in the midst of a shopping trip to ask a cotton ginner for a tour.  He obliged, but I'm sure he's still wondering why those three women stopped by.

First, we saw the field of mulberry trees.  Of course, we started looking for worms immediately.  Our guide quickly informed us that we wouldn't find any in the field;  the local birds would just eat them all for lunch.

All the hatching happens here.  In the cocoonerie.  Doesn't that have a nice ring - cocoonerie?  The building was on short stilts, and each pillar (including the stairs) had little moats of water around them to keep other critters out.

 You know, to protect the critters inside.  As soon as we walked in, we saw the worms.  Lots of worms.  These round baskets were in wire and wooden cabinets very similar to antique pie safes.  It gave me an idea for a use for MY pie safe.  All I need is a mulberry tree....Anyway, each basket held worms of a specific age and development stage. 

This woman was sitting in front of the worm cages chopping mulberry leaves to feed to her friends.  The worms get a fresh meal of leaves each day.  There were a lot of baskets, so I suppose she sits and chops all day.  Every day.

These worms are done eating, and they're ready to spin their chrysalises.  They are placed into baskets with troughs for the cocoons to hold on to.  B3 and AK were really intrigued by the entire process, and they were studying each basket. 

Now would probably be a good time to watch this time lapse video I found online.  Seriously, isn't it amazing ?

Cool Silk Worm Video

Even if watching worms eat leaves for 30 days doesn't thrill you, at least look at this chart to understand the whole process.

Now, our guide was very informative, and he answered all of our questions as well as he could.  And there were a LOT of questions.  But he was nervous.  Really nervous.  While his English was very good, I think he was simply very self conscious about speaking English to native speakers.  I really wanted to give him a squeeze and tell him he was doing great, but that's crossing all sorts of social and cultural boundaries that I try to respect.  Anyway, at this point in our tour, I accidentally made him even more nervous by asking a simple question.  He casually mentioned that only a percentage of the cocoons were allowed to hatch as moths to reproduce and perpetuate the process.  If the moth hatches, the silk fibers are broken and useless. So, I asked how they prevented that.  He got a little antsy and mumbled, "They die."  Well, clearly.  But how?  His eyes got wide and he nearly whispered, "we boil them..."  I think he thought we'd be horrified by the very thought of boiling helpless moths, but I'm not sure why.  I wasn't wearing my PETA t-shirt. 

These are cocoons that have been boiled and are drying in the sun.

...

These cocoons have been dried and are waiting to be unwound.

Now, here comes the good part . Are you ready?  The cocoons are placed in hot water again, and a wooden spatula-type tool picks up the individual cocoon silk fibers a few at a time.  These fibers are wound several at a time onto a skein winder. 

Can you see the individual fibers?  Look closely!

Now this process was a lot less technical and precise than I had imagined it might be.  Honestly, all she uses to pick up the fibers is that wooden spatula. This first process removes the outer layer of silk fibers.  This is the silk we know as "raw". It's the silk used in fabric that has a little texture and isn't completely uniform in size. I always assumed that those slubs were intentionally introduced, and I still think some are, but it's a different fiber, too.

 If you're shopping and find a silk fabric that has a perfectly smooth, "silky" texture, that's the fine silk that comes from the inside layer of the cocoon.  It's unwound a little differently. Once the fibers are picked up (using the same wooden spatula), they are fed through a spinneret to introduce a little twist as they are wound.

After it's unwound, it looks like this:

(outer layer of the cocoon - raw silk)

Inner layer of the cocoon - finer silk

If it's to be dyed or bleached, it happens to skeins like this.

Next, it's wound from the skein into individual bobbins.  Notice that her equipment uses bicycle wheel frames.

Next, the warp is prepared.  The warp consists of the threads that are wound on a loom for the long part of the fabric. 

Here's a good illustration of the two different silks at various stages in their process.

Next, the warp is taken to the loom and the loom is dressed.  The horizontal piece she's feeding the threads through is called the reed.  The reed has many vertical metal bars dividing it into tiny sections.  Each section will hold one thread, and it's called a dent.  The reed keeps the threads uniformly distributed.  The finer your fabric is, the more dents per inch you'll have, and this one had a lot of dents.  I could have stood there and watched them work on this all day.  And  I'm sure it took them all day to get it done.

In one room, we saw a small group sitting on the floor separating the plastic strips from a woven bag.  It was a sack used for rice or animal feed.  They were separating the strips and cutting them into measured lengths.  I wondered why, and when we went to the next room, We found out.  Threads of measured length have been wrapped around a frame, and these plastic strips are tied around groups of threads in a pattern.  Next, this frame will be dipped into a vat of dye, and the sections tied up in the plastic strips will not dye.  Each individual thread that will be used in the weft (the filling of the fabric - the short lengths that travel across the loom to create the fabric) will be dyed to match a specific pattern. 

After dyeing, each thread is wound onto its own bobbin.  Note again the bicycle parts: wheels, chains, and pedals. 

Aren't these beautiful?  They were laying on the bench of the loom where  this blue and yellow scarf was being woven.   I still can't figure out how they know which bobbin to weave next to create the pattern.

Notice the detail in the pattern. Amazing!

No photographs were allowed in their shop, but just believe me when I say their items are incredible.
You can visit their virtual store by clicking on this link.  It's the same organization I wrote about yesterday, so you can see the other crafts, too.

We asked someone where the items were made, and she enthusiastically announced that they were all made on the premises, on the looms we had just seen.  Yeah, we're not buying that story; they've got to have some mechanized looms somewhere churning out that much yardage.  Whatever.  It was still a fascinating tour, and I think we all learned a ton.  I do feel a little sorry for our guide, though.  Who know he'd be stuck with the guy who makes sewing thread for a living and his textile engineer wife? 

Beside the store, we enjoyed Blue Pumpkin ice cream.  The Blue Pumpkin is a Siem Reap restaurant, and their ice cream is for sale in many places.  To B3's delight, they also had sorbet.  Hooray!  A cup all to himself. 

He also enjoyed the cold washcloths they offered with our mid morning snack.  We were all thankful for those. 

Visiting this silk farm reminded me that God does, indeed have a sense of humor.  For hundreds of years, royals and rich men have been dressing in the finest silks.  And, where does this silk come from?  From a lowly little worm's rear.  Except, I'm confident that we'll never see a silk worm as lowly again.  It was truly an amazing day!

Fall Break 2012 (Siem Reap #1)

In the Spring of 2011, I was standing in line at the grocery store when this caught my eye:

Now, any normal person would have thought, "Hmmm...the journey of relocating 10,000 miles to the other side of the globe is certain to be THE Journey of a Lifetime..."  But, since normal people don't relocate 10,000 miles to the other side of the globe, that's not the thought that crossed my mind.  Instead, I quickly deduced that I might have 40 good travel years left, and I'd better get busy if I was going to see even a fraction of these "must-see destinations".   Into the cart it went. 

I had been on a few of these journeys already, but the pages had incredible photos of exotic places that one only reads about in National Geographic.  Places like Angkor Wat, in Siem Reap, Cambodia. Of course, I knew about Angkor Wat, but not in a "I might go there one day" way.   When I flipped past Angkor Wat, a picture of Southeast Asia flashed into my brain and I reasoned that it must be relatively close to Singapore.  There was only one problem:  proximity in miles doesn't exactly guarantee that it's a good idea to put Angkor Wat on my Bucket List.  It is in Cambodia, after all.  Is it safe?  Do people actually go there?

Shortly after our move, I had the answers to those questions.  Yes, it's safe, and Yes, people go often.  Let the trip planning begin!

AK had a week off of school for Fall Break in Mid-October, and we debated what to do.  Finally, with only two weeks left before the break, we decided to visit Siem Reap.  Everyone who heard of our plans assured us that we'd have a great time. 

We arranged to have a guide and a driver for the duration of our time there.  While it's not necessary to have either of those, we have found it to be very helpful when travelling with kids.  Our guide, Vudthy (pronounced Wooty) picked us up at the airport and we were off.  Siem Reap isn't a large town, and our hotel was less than ten minutes from the airport. 

After a short stop to drop off luggage at our hotel, Vudthy took us to Artisans D'Angkor to see local artisans creating traditional crafts.  Some of the artisans have disabilities, and others are from local communities that depend on these trades for survival.  Vudthy particularly wanted us to focus on the stone carvers so we would have an appreciation for how much time and effort went into the temples we would visit. 

There are silk painters, lacquer painters, metal workers, stone carvers, and wood carvers.  Watching them work was fascinating.

 

 

All of the rooms were covered in detailed drawings indicating what to carve or paint.  It's a little sad to watch so much time, energy, and talent go into Buddha after Buddha, but the process was intriguing.

The next morning, we were up bright and early, thanks to the one hour time change.  Everyone says that they'll sleep in when they're teenagers, and I hope these two aren't the exception.  EARLY risers they are!  We were off to see Angkor Wat, the main reason folks visit Siem Reap.

Angkor Wat was built in the 12th century and is the largest Hindu temple complex in the world.  And, it's huge; the complex is a rectangle measuring over a kilometer on one side and 8/10 of a kilometer on the other side.  It's surrounded by a moat, and aerial shots are incredible.  Obviously, this isn't my photo, but you can take a ultralight flight over the temple complex for just a few dollars.  Maybe next time.

   

Our guide filled us with stories explaining what all of the carved murals depicted, but since my knowledge of Hindu gods is minimal, I didn't retain much of it.  Still, we all enjoyed walking and looking.  Not only at the temple, since the people watching was spectacular, too.

This couple was having wedding photos taken.  I couldn't help but join in.

Notice the two monks in saffron and rust robes crossing the bridge?

These ladies were part of a tour group.  I loved their umbrellas, but I didn't love how they owned the entire bridge and didn't budge.

These holes are from bullets fired during the Civil War in the 1970's.  A little more on that later . For now, just imagine having such little regard for a place like Angkor Wat that you'd cause permanent damage by looting its treasures and shooting up its walls?



This one's for you, Alicia.  It's the LIBRARY!

Apsara dancers

Did I really pay $2 to have this picture taken?  Absolutely.

As I was taking this picture, I realized someone was about to photobomb my shot...

...and there she is.   This was taken just after she shoved her camera at me and demanded that I take her picture with her friend and my kid.  The friend refused to be in my photo, though.  Go figure.

 The climb to the top didn't look terrible, but you have to be 12 to go up.  So, we didn't. 

 

These workers are clearing the various weeds and roots from the buildings to protect them from further damage caused by plants . Vudthy says they probably earn about $50 a month. 



 We really didn't spend a lot of time at Angkor Wat, but it was worth the trip.  It was hot, and the little people can only handle so much.  Besides, the big people can handle only slightly more.  Since we started our tour before 8 am, so we were done early.   We moved on to a nearby temple that isn't visited often because it isn't nearly as spectacular as some of the others.

Kravan Temple is very near to Angkor Wat, and it's completely different.  It was built in the 10th century (only triple digit years - OLD!)  of reddish bricks. 

They're renovating, and the scaffolding went right over their shrine. 

In several locations, we saw signs like this one announcing that the renovations were a joint effort between the Cambodian government and those of other nations.  In this case, it was Germany.  Our guide explained that the roads in the area were completely redone by UNESCO recently, and when we later experienced an "unimproved" road, we were very thankful that the rest of the world considers Siem Reap worth protecting, too. 

Everywhere we went, we were accosted and nearly attacked by folks selling t-shirts, books, scarves, postcards, and other wares. We normally just ignored them and kept walking, especially the children. I, of course, wanted to buy from all of the kids just so I could take their photos and give them a dollar, but I didn't take even one photo. Most legitimate aid organizations ask that the kids be ignored in hopes that they don't earn enough money and they'll go to school.

These boys were playing under the shade of a tree while their mom was making bird mobiles to sell. She was quietly working, and the birds definitely caught our eyes.   

 We bought a small one after watching her work.  We don't bring home a lot of souvenirs (unless it's a textile that I cannot resist), but it was hard not to buy from this mom.  Although I certainly have no place to put a bird mobile in our tiny Singapore home, I can just imagine one hanging on the porch of our Little Switzerland mountain cabin.  The porch where you can sit and watch the stars come out and see the car lights twinkling across the valley on the Blue Ridge Parkway.  The porch that doesn't exist because there isn't a cabin to attach it to.  Yet.  One day.  I just hope the birds last long enough to see the cabin (honestly,  I hope I  live long enough to see the cabin...).

After the temples, we visited the Silk Worm Farm, which deserves a post all of its own. Stay tuned...

 



And So It Begins....

Girls like paper. We like little Post-It notes, lists, stickers, stationery,  and all sorts of pretty paper.  We also like to write notes.  Elementary school girls like to fold these notes into cute little packages, too. It's no surprise that my girl would like the same things I did when I was her age.  I admit, however, her recent and sudden appreciation for these things took me by surprise.

It all started last week when she was supposed to be doing homework.  I came out of the kitchen and instead found her busily folding a well creased and tired square of paper.  When our eyes met, she looked incredibly guilty; she most certainly wasn't preparing for a spelling test like she should have been. 

"My teacher taught some groups to fold paper so it fits on your fingers, but I can't figure it out!", she said.  Ah Ha.  I immediately knew what she was talking about. She explained it as a "Phonics Fun Flap" that some of her classmates were using, but I knew it as something else. Since I once was an elementary school girl, memories of folding paper came rushing back.  I knew it was inevitable that we would bond that evening over the fine art of the cootie catcher, but I steered her back to her spelling words as I quietly picked up a clean sheet of paper and began to cut and fold. 

When she heard the flap-flap of the paper as I operated my newly folded cootie catcher, her entire face lit up. First, it was a look of sheer joy.  Then, a moment of confusion swept across her face.  I could read her thoughts:  How in the WORLD could her ancient mother be cool enough to know how to make such a thing??  The look of confusion became an expression of awe, and I realized that I had done the nearly impossible:  I had impressed a six year old girl.  I realize that, when she's 15, she will be even more difficult to impress.  But even now, those times are few and far between. 

"Can you show me, Mama? Right now?  Can you show me?"   Dinner and spelling came first, and I'm sure I heard the words, "NOW can you show me?" at least fifty times before we finally had a chance to sit down and fold paper together.  Her giggles were infectious, and I almost couldn't resist the urge to write silly things under the flaps of my own cootie catcher.  Almost.  She wore hers out on the bus the next day, and it came home with a hole on the creases.  I'm waiting on the call from the teacher to inform me that the paper folding has gotten AK into trouble, but we're safe so far. 

Along with the paper folding, the note writing has begun as well.  She has a little notebook in her backpack, and she and her bus friends make lists of the "nice" and "annoying" kids on the bus each day.  In her mind, those fourth grade boys really want to be on the "nice" List. I don't have the heart to tell her that  those boys will work very hard to stay on the " annoying" list for at least the  next twelve years.  Or more. 

The note writing made its way home tonight.  I was sorting some papers when a page appeared under my nose as a pink pencil was pressed into my hand.

It reads:

Dear Mom
I am soooo
sorry I
Broke your
closet
Please resbond

I responded:

Dear Anna Kate,
It's all fixed now.  I (heart) you!
Love, Mom
PS. No more ball throwing in the house, OK?

She wrote back:

OK

as she said, "and I really did mean that...what I wrote, you know."

I alluded to the broken door incident in my last post, and here's the rest of the story.  Last month, I took AK to a birthday party at a great little indoor mini golf place.  In her goody bag, she found a golf ball.  On Sunday afternoon, I was fixing lunch when two kids with very looong faces appeared in the kitchen. 

"I need to tell you something,"  She said.   Her brother's lip was poked out, and he didn't look happy. 
"We were playing, and your closet door broke."  Sigh.  Now, we've been working on this external locust of control issue with her for quite a while, and it was abundantly clear at this moment, none of it was sinking in.  I'm fairly confident that closet doors don't just break. Not even glass ones, which we happen to have in the master bedroom.  Sure enough, the door was broken.

It was broken so well that I taped it up as soon as I was done taking pictures.  The last thing I needed was even more glass on the floor (a few small pieces were already there) when B2 was out of town. 

As the story emerged, it became obvious that my normally rule following six year old had thrown her new golf ball and broken the door.  She was quick to point out, however, that she hadn't been in my room; instead, she threw it with enough force that it bounced down the hall several times before hitting the door. Even better. 

As frustrated as I was with her poor decision making and lack of perceived responsibility, I had to stifle a laugh when she ended the story with, "and when it happened, I just said, 'uh oh!' but HE (eyes rolling and thumb pointing at her little brother, whose lip was still poked out) said, "let's go tell Mommy right now!" 

Maybe, just maybe, I'll have a responsible one after all. 

Fast forward a month, the door is repaired ($200 replacement), and I didn't dock her allowance for two years to pay for it. The note shows that perhaps she's taking responsibility after all.  And the golf ball?  Let's just say it's safe to say it won't be hitting anymore doors anytime soon!

Where am I?

Nearly every day, I find myself asking myself a question. Well, I find myself asking lots of questions. For instance, one of last week's questions was "Did you really think that the glass closet door wouldn't break when you threw a golf ball at it??"

But that's a different story.

I see or hear something almost daily that makes me wonder where in the world I am.

Recently, it was the song "Cotton Fields" playing in the grocery store. Sure, we hear all if the recent popular songs, but that one is sort of our of left field (and the sixties). When I was in Indonesia 18 years ago, a Filipino cover band was singing it in a restaurant, and it took me a moment to figure it out. They didn't speak English, so the were mostly just approximating the lyrics. Once they noticed me singing along, they tried to pass me a microphone. Didn't happen. Definitely a "where am I?" Moment - both times with a very random song.

Then, there's the variety of cultures here in Singapore that make me stop and think about where in the world I am.  For instance, I see this place when I take the bus to the grocery store:

Madeleine's Original Portuguese Egg Tarts.  Right under the Buddhist Center. 

Now, given the crazy mix of nationalities here, it's not especially odd to see something Portuguese or food from anywhere else for that matter.  We have an American barbecue restaurant (that tries too hard and isn't very good), Brazilian steakhouses, Ethiopian restaurants, and everything in between.  In fact, we celebrated Mexican Independence Day by eating some decent Mexican food; if I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was at the Orizaba Holiday Inn again (and that's not a bad thing.  At all!). 

Most days, we have nearly all of the comforts of home, and it's easy to forget where we are.  And then, there are times when our shopping list has mundane items that send us on a scavenger hunt all over the island.  This week, it was Ivory soap and cumin. The Ivory soap was found in the third grocery store we looked in, but the search is still on for cumin.  I'm sure it's here; I just haven't been in the right place yet....
It's always an adventure, and it's never dull.  At least we have Madeleine's egg tarts to keep us going.

Getting Over It

Soup.  I love soup!  It's a comfort food.  It's warm goodness in a bowl.  It isn't fancy or pretentious.  But soup is not an everyday food.  Soup is a cold weather food.  Normally, in Mid September, I'd make sure the pantry was stocked with everything necessary to make taco soup and chili.  Then, on the first day I could see my breath, I'd plan to make a batch.  (I'd also email my sister and announce that I'd seen my breath.  I used to mark it on my calendar.  It's one of my favorite days of the year; it signals sweaters and snow and holidays and fires and all sorts of greatness.)

I couldn't eat soup last fall.  It was too hot, too sticky (Singapore. Not soup).   I hoped that I would get over it if we were here long enough, but I had my doubts.  Surprisingly, it didn't take as long as I thought it might.  I think it was after Christmas last year that I finally decided that I could eat - and even cook- soup. 

Last week, B3 and I shared a miserable cold.   So, the weekend found me in the kitchen cooking up a pot of taco soup and a lot of chicken and dumplings.  I think I was subliminally channeling a Fall that will not arrive. There will be no nip in the air;  I won't see my breath.  The sweaters and boots and jackets are all packed away in hopes of a trip to somewhere wonderful, but we won't need them in Singapore.  Even our Halloween plans must be calculated.  No costume that covers more than Summer play clothes is practical. 

But I can eat - and enjoy - soup!  I'm over the "It's a cold weather food" thing.  I've gotten over some other things, too.  Like:

• The price of Dr. Pepper
• White sandals and sundresses after Labor Day
• The fact that my daughter prefers to wear the same outfit every time we go anywhere.  So all of our photos look like they were taken on the same day.
• People taking pictures of my kids
• The smell of taxis
• Pushy old women on the train
• Geckos in my house
• No power outlets in the bathroom (another post for another day.  I could go on and on about the bathroom.  And I probably will sometime).
• Not having our meals arrive anywhere near the same time at a restaurant
• Not having a car
• Cute shoes. Don't get me wrong; I still appreciate cute shoes.  But if I can't walk a kilometer in them, they're not going on my feet. 

Somethings, I simply NOT get accustomed to.

• Jeans and scarves.  It's the Tropics, people!  Fashion trends are irrelevant if you have a heat stroke.
• Shoes 2 sizes too small.  I declare - most women have their toes dripping off the front and their heels hanging off the back.  It simply can't be comfortable.
• Pushy old women on the train (yeah, it's on both lists.  I've learned to stand my ground, but it still annoys me).
• Having no Air Con in the kitchen.  Whew. It's hot in there when we're cooking! 
• Turkey bacon/chicken ham.  They should name it something different. Bacon=Pig.   Ask Ben; A Baconator isn't a Baconator if the bacon isn't from a pig.
• The grocery store.

Even after a year, the grocery store is still a place of amusement.   I never fail to find something that makes me laugh.  For instance, Octopus. Right there next to the good ole Tomato Soup.

Even when I'm stuck in my routines of buying most of the same things I'd be buying on the other side of the globe, I can't avoid the not so subtle reminders that I'm Over Here.

I can't help but wonder...does my favorite Charlotte Harris Teeter stock Octopus in Garlic Sauce?  And if they do, is it by the tomato soup?