Jelly Flop

This is a story that brought me to my knees.

The Pchoom Ben holiday arrived last week, bringing with it several days of vacation…and then several more, because once Cambodians get rolling with their vacays, we might as well extend it to a full week off. Why not?! I mean, with only 20-some holidays in a year, we have to get those lazy country-side visits to family in somewhere.

So before hitting the dusty trail on back to my village I decided to hitch up with some of my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) on their way to Kep province for a few days of beach-side relaxation. However, there were a few road-blocks along the way to said sandy paradise. While coordinating bus schedules with my travel-mates, I noticed that the bus route stamped on their purchased tickets was not being listed off to me in the options I had to get to Kep. I told the vendor that I wanted to be on the 12:30 bus to Kep, in both Khmer and English to make my point clear, and he kept repeating that there was only a bus at that time that went to Kampot; some of the buses go through Kep on their way to Kampot, which is what I wanted, but the tickets already purchased by my friends were actually on the other route that goes to Kampot a different way, and not Kep at all. He told me that the previous vendor must have been confused because that particular scheduled bus time was eliminated as an option two weeks ago. Of course this was all communicated to me over three or four trips to the counter after shuffling behind other people that were buying tickets for supposedly existing, non-imaginary routes, while the thought was still churning in my head, “Hmm, if the previous vendor was confused, who is to tell me that you too will be confused about the current bus schedule, dear sir?” This also led me to ask for confirmation at least five times that I was buying a ticket for an actual bus, and not swindled into buying a seat on an imaginary vehicle. And of course this was all conducted while it was raining. Every frustrating scenario seems to be accompanied by the rain in Cambodia- it’s the cherry on top of my every struggle- sundae.

So after several calls back and forth to Andrea, Helen and Kurt, relaying to them the mishaps of their vendor, they were able to call up Sorya bus company and switch their tickets: which basically meant that they were told to write in the other bus time on their current tickets- all very official, of course. This gave us some concern to whether or not they would actually be allowed on the bus the next day, but come Saturday morning we all boarded the hour-late transport to Beach-erific Cambodia, and all was well with the world.

Upon arrival to Kep town, we were greeted with the usual tuk-tuk drivers eager to take us to our destined hotels. Since we hadn’t given much thought to where we would be staying, we ended up sitting on a wall by the beach area waiting for an answer from Jane, another volunteer who had visited Kep already, for some ideas of where to hang our hats for the night. One of her first suggestions was a place that was literally 30 yards or so from swarms of tuk-tuk drivers, who would have probably had us pay two dollars to get there. After scoping out the other guest-houses in the vicinities we agreed that her suggestion was indeed the best deal on the block, but were enticed by the idea of another place off the beaten trail that boasted of a pool and hammocks. So it came to be that we used the services of a twenty-something year-old male tuk tuk driver wearing a Mr. Potato Head t-shirt and an all- pink tuk tuk and moto set to reach our tucked-away oasis.

The first day’s weather was slightly unfavorable (read: rainy, big surprise). But once the clouds cleared we all took to our rented bikes to head back to the central area of town with all the best restaurants. Only one problem: most of the bikes had no brakes, and there were quite a few steep hills that ushered us into our haven of gastronomical delights. So with a mixture of fear and fun, we made our way accelerating down the slopes with the hopes that it would be the amounting friction on our tires that would bring us to a halt and not the hood of an incoming car. But, oh!, the wondrous reward of a salad with the reduced chance of the otherwise inevitable diarrhea from raw vegetables! What curious delight is found in the simple combination of lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, olives, olive oil
(or as the menu indicated, “Live Oil”), pepper, and the ever-magnanimous FETA. CHEESE. We returned to our abode with filled bellies and the urge to take a dip in the private pool- which we did by lantern light as we were experiencing a temporary black-out. An otherwise wonderful nights-sleep was only interrupted by the sex sounds of the old, neighboring French couple who would pause every fifteen seconds or so to make conversation- hardly a rhythm I could fall asleep to, as I’m used to the consistency of on-going love-making of cats in my village.

The next day, we decided it was more economically efficient for us to stay at the hotel closest to the food in town so we did not have to make the treacherous bike journey to and from our current stay. We took to lounging at the beach and soaked up the relatively filtered sun rays from the cloudy sky. Our evening consisted of pizza and spaghetti, as well as Glee-watching.

Since Monday, my last day with the group before heading back to my village, was the sunniest day we had seen so far in our journey, we decided to forego our pre-determined trip to Kampot and stay one more day in Kep to really enjoy the beachy-keen provincial town. We basked in the rays of the sun (with something like 11 times the UV rays of sun in the U.S.), which resulted in my inevitable sunburn, despite the generous globs of sunscreen I had applied. We mostly talked during this time, playing the game of “Truth or Dare” (minus the “Dare”- so I guess you can say we played “Truth”), until deciding to cool off from the scathing sun by jumping in the refreshing gulf of Thailand. Only then, did disaster strike (cue eerie music). Neither my bout of water aerobics nor my attempt at body surfing (which was mostly floating on my stomach because the waves were not nearly strong enough to move me more than a few feet) disturb what lies beneath the cloudy surface of the water. Nay, it was when I was standing calmly, in a state of pure tranquility and harmony with my surroundings, when I was so maliciously struck by such a sinister creature, with such a cute name…the jellyfish. Andrea would later describe my facial expressions of that of sheer fear and panic during the attack. Probably the scariest thing about the experience was not knowing what was striking me at first due to the initial shock of being stung and not being able to see what was stinging me in the murky water’s shallow depths. It first zapped my right inner thigh and briefly paused before whipping me 6 times on my left inner thigh and leaving a final zinger on my right calf. After Kurt assisted me out of the ocean, as it was hard to walk at that point, he and Helen went back to the hotel to look up what to do in this kind of predicament, and to ask Joanne (our Medical Officer) for her expertise on the matter. The first bit of advice was to go back in the water, the scene of the crime, so that the salt water would cool off the fresh wound. Andrea helped me waddle back to gulf to stand with my back facing the tide so it would splash up against the stung areas. Helen and Kurt soon came back with vinegar and plastic bags and basically told me to spread ‘em.

Now here comes probably one of the most embarrassing scenes I’ve ever made in Cambodia, and that’s saying something. Since we had to douse my injured thighs with the vinegar, but we didn’t want to get our only big beach towel soaked in the pungent stuff, and I also didn’t want to have my whole body covered in sand, I did the most logical-sounding thing at the moment…I got on all fours. I’m pretty sure my frantic dance out of the water drew enough attention as it was, but an even bigger Khmer crowd gathered to watch when I shamelessly dropped to my hands and knees as the two girls used the plastic bags as gloves to rub vinegar on my inner thighs. Not my best moment…but in about two hours, after managing to shuffle back to the hotel and lay down with a vinegar-soaked kroma over the back of my legs, I started to feel a lot better, and was able to begin the healing process of not only the physical pain but also the toll taken on my ego.

Aside from the traumatic event of The Menacing Medusa!, I had a lovely last day down in Kep. The four of us wondered the less-populated parts of town in search for the promise of “The Sandwich Shop”, as indicated on the map, but to no avail, and instead ran into several drunken men pointing us in every direction other than what had been previously told to us. On the way back to our guesthouse and all the actual existing restaurants we grabbed some juice and spiked it with a tiny bottle of vodka. Grape juice plus vodka equals a poor man’s wine. Topped the night off with fancy pants pizza (read: GOAT CHEESE!), and bashing episodes of the Bachelorette. I’d say it was an all- around great trip.

And even the jellyfish-attack gave me something to talk about to my fellow villagers upon returning to Bos Khnaor. I usually relayed the story in the same fashion each time: I’d say “I was in the sea in Kep, and a squid-like animal with long arms (gesture of squiggly arms here) hit my legs (gesture of hitting my inner thighs violently).” Then I do a little jig and scream out a bit. People usually reacted by laughing and then scrunching up their faces in sympathetic pain.

Joanne said it was a good thing that the jellyfish didn’t sting my face…or my genitals. You got a good point there, Joanne.

So here’s what I learned about jellyfish stings, so that all you readers will be informed on the procedure for future encounters should you have the same misfortune befall upon you. I implore you, dear reader, to follow these instructions to ease your wounds, and your wounded pride if you ever find yourself on all fours in front of a gawking crowd as well. And let’s get this out of the way first- you don’t have to pee on it! No urine required! Right, so…

Lauren’s “I Don’t Think You’re Ready for this Jelly” Brief Instruction Manual:

Step 1: Wipe off excessive goo. Beware! Parts of the goo may fling to other parts of your body or on your friends if you are not careful! Use rubber gloves to remove the extra bits. Joanne also recommends the method of using baking soda to calm the effect of the toxins and scrape off the jelly extract with credit card or something similar. (Note: there is one particular jellyfish that you should not remove from your body, as some sources indicate, but since there’s quite a few kinds of jellyfish and only one is like this your chances are better to remove it.)

Step 2: Go back to the scene of the crime. Obviously don’t go back to the same part of the water! Salt water may have the most cooling effect on the stings. Some sources indicate that fresh water will further agitate the toxins, although this is in contestation because Joanne advised that hot fresh water can also help. It’s also important to stay out of direct sunlight.

Step 3: Vinegar, NOT Urine. Take a towel, or a kroma, and soak it in as much vinegar as you can and apply it to your wound. What a difference it makes! Might not smell the greatest, but at least it’s better than piss.

Step 4: Spread Jellyfish Attack Awareness/ Seek Therapy. Show what you looked like during the attack to friends and family, then flash them a look at your battle scars…unless they actually are on your genitals.

So there you have it, folks. Be prepared, swim safe, and don’t let the jelly bring you to your belly. (Or in my case, your knees, because I just couldn’t stand to get my suit sandy.)